


The Lonely Coyote

by AssistedRealityInterface



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Change in Plot, Dom/sub, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, Porn With Plot, Strippers & Strip Clubs, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 74,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssistedRealityInterface/pseuds/AssistedRealityInterface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clint's time-honored traditional mission of 'undercover stripper' goes a bit deeper into his relationship with Coulson than either of them anticipated, the two of them end up grappling with a lot more than they bargained for. Especially when it comes to Clint's complex labyrinth of issues, leaving Phil treading the line between fixing Clint and breaking him down permanently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For once, Fury's not a villain; you know, I do happen to like the guy, haha.  
> Anyways, this is the stripper fic I told myself I'd never write and did anyway because why not?  
> So there's mild d/s in this; nothing major if it's not your thing, but Clint is a very needy, messed up agent in need of that sort of dominance. Also, mentions of rape, but nothing graphic enough to denote a major warning--just something to watch out for.  
> This is pretty long for a oneshot, but honestly, I had nowhere to break it up, so there you go. I hope you like it! It's honestly my first real time writing Clint/Coulson without Natasha thrown in too, sob.

Of all the undercover missions Coulson had run with Clint, this was up there with the worst of them.

Not for the reasons the missions were normally horrible; no one was getting shot at or stabbed or captured or blown up. That would be an easy end to his torment.

Instead, he was sitting in a seedy club somewhere in the middle of central America watching Clint grip a pole tight, rubbing himself against it as he purred, wanton and eager.

They hadn't simply arrived in the middle of Mexico and decided Clint was going to be reborn as a stripper, though. Oh, no, that might have been more interesting.

The day had proceeded as it usually did; Coulson having to practically physically throw Clint out of bed, get him dressed, and make him shower before he made their coffee and drove him to base. As his handler, he had been living with the other man for quite some time, and to live with Clint Barton was an exercise in frustration, all truth be told.

He was the only one who could do this, though. That, Fury had unfortunately figured out; considering all of Clint's other handlers had either stormed off cursing, run away in tears, or been found in the broom closet clutching a bottle of Southern Comfort like it was a lifeline, it wasn't too hard a task to narrow it down to the one man in S.H.I.E.L.D. for whom being around the agent wasn't like being nibbled to death by ducks.

Clint had Natasha, and so Coulson ended up with Natasha as well, but that was in fact the first sign things were going wrong—the fact that Natasha had not been called in with them. 

"I need you to go undercover," was the first thing out of Fury's mouth, and Coulson raised an eyebrow. He wasn't exactly surprised; considering that Clint was the most likely candidate for the Avengers Initiative along with Natasha, Fury wanted all the undercover out of him he could get before he became a public hero figure.

Still, his carefully crafted, legendary mask of placidity slipped when Fury then added, "As a stripper."

Coulson was quiet, but for the briefest of instants, his eye twitched and he began to develop a tic in his jaw.

"They prefer to be called exotic dancers now, sir," Clint said.

"Barton, cut the shit, I'm serious," Fury replied with a heavy sigh. "The drug cartel leader we're after is well-known for frequenting a certain club that almost exclusively employs young men and boys. It's about the only time he leaves his home, the paranoid motherfucker, so we've made some arrangements and gotten you in."

"Aw, come on, I just turned twenty-seven, I don't wanna have to play a horny teenage boy again," Clint whined, rolling his eyes and flexing his shoulders. Coulson really wished he wouldn't remind him of how young and tender he was. It alternately broke his heart and made him feel terribly dirty.

"Would you rather I get Coulson to do it?" Fury asked, looking at him over the paperwork. The tips of Coulson's ears burned red.

"Yes," Clint replied without missing a beat.

Coulson choked.

"But, since I clearly have the better ass, I'll take one for the team and take the mission," Clint said. "No offense, Phil."

Coulson was just relieved Clint didn't think of him as 'too old.' Relieved and a little worried, admittedly, but the relief was stronger.

Fury just regarded them both with a single exasperated eye. Coulson shrugged.

"Sir, I'll brief him as soon as possible. Clint, go get your things packed and meet with the undercover ops team, they'll have your things," Coulson said. 

"You'll need the mission file," Fury told him, handing it to Phil. "This should be a quick one. Enjoy it, Phil."

"Me? Why would—"

He caught himself and nodded, the picture of professionalism back in place. Fury just raised an eyebrow. 

Phil knew that look. He had known Fury too long not to know that look. That was the ' _don't lie to me, you want to shag him senseless_ ' look. 

He was too old for that look. That was supposed to be a look green agents got. Not him. 

Then again, Clint had changed a lot about him lately. Mostly for the better, except for the occasional hangover and poorly-thought out tattoo. Clint always laughed when he saw the tramp stamp depicting the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo that Coulson now possessed, though, so that was something.

Coulson just sighed and shot Fury a look back. He had the advantage of two working eyes, so it was enough to get him out of Fury's office and down the hall to pack his own bags, read the mission file, and prepare for the trip.

...

"Our target is called Manuelo Martinez; fifty-eight years old, been working his way steadily up since he was fired from a company in '94 for embezzeling—"

"Nipple pasties, glitter heels, assless chaps..."

"He's a known pederast, and since he owns the club we're going to be frequenting—which is the Lonely Coyote, by the way—he gets to staff who he likes. Fortunately, we've been running this operation for months, and we've put enough agents in to get you hired with little fuss. You're a bit older than his normal prey, but some makeup and waxing and you'll be fine."

"Wax kit, razors, lipstick, foundation, eyeliner..."

"There are private rooms, and we have it on good authority it doubles as a brothel, so we'll be busting him for sex trafficking while we're at it. Don't forget your knife; we made you one that can be hidden behind your ear if you fold it properly and adjust the clasp. It's a bit small, obviously, but it's better than nothing. Not that I don't think you couldn't kill him with your bare hands, but..."

"Condoms, dildo, knife, fishnets, tassels, and sixteen pairs of silk underwear..."

"They'll be expecting us when we arrive, so all we have to do is set you up. Your codename is Tomas Hunt, and, since our undercover team is incredibly creative, you're stripping under the name Hawkeye. Less to remember while you're up there grinding away, I guess. I'll be there as one of the bodyguards to Martinez himself, and your backup. Now, are you prepared, or do I need to cover anything else?"

"Garters, harness, collar, leash, lace panties, silk stockings, and my bow and quiver, just in case," Clint said, leaning back on his haunches, the picture of satisfaction.

"Did you listen to a _word I said_ , Clint?" Coulson snapped.

"Sure did," Clint said, looking up at Coulson. "Don't be angry at me, okay? I swear I did."

Clint looked like a scolded little boy, hunched in on himself. He was hesitant, twitching when Coulson moved to sigh and lean back in his seat.

"No, Clint," Coulson said, keeping his voice gentle. "I'm not angry at you. I just want to make sure you know what you're doing on this job, but I should've known I could trust you to listen to me and account for your supplies as well."

Clint nodded, looking away and biting his lip, chewing at the already-abused top layer of skin. 

Coulson hated moments like this; for every time Clint lit up from within powered solely by praise or warmth from him, there was a moment like this, where a simple scolding had  Clint on the verge of a breakdown.

Natasha had told him that meant something. That meant Clint wanted nothing more than his approval, his praise and appreciation. He craved it, craved an authority figure to tell him he was doing well, that he was _good,_ because he sure as hell hadn't gotten that from home. 

It didn't mean Coulson liked it. He didn't like having that power over Clint. He didn't deserve it.

But he had it, regardless...and he needed to remember that, and be just a bit more careful with him.

"You did good, Clint," Coulson said. "Are you gonna keep doing good on this mission and stay safe for me?"

"Yeah, Phil," Clint promised. "Won't go screwing guys I don't know. Promise."

The very thought lanced Coulson with pain, though he didn't so much as show a twitch. He'd let on to too much today. 

"Just be careful, Clint. I'll be there to protect you if things go all pear-shaped on us, I promise. Got it?" He said, keeping his voice gentle. Clint grinned.

"Yeah, I got it," he said. "I'll be fine though, Phil. Honest. I just, uh."

Coulson tilted his head just a bit, curious. Clint wasn't meeting his eyes when he spoke now, hunched over the array of items the undercover team had seen fit to give him for his task.

"Clint? Is something the matter?" He asked.

"Nah, I just, y'know," Clint said with a shrug of his shoulders.

 _"Clint,_ " Coulson said, his voice firm but not stern, a way to get the truth out of Clint without hurting him.

"You're not gonna hate me for this, right?" Clint blurted out, looking up at him. "I mean, man. You're not gonna think I'm a slut or something after this mission and stop looking me in the eye or whatever?"

Coulson found that to be one of the most human things Clint had ever allowed himself to do; after he had come back to Coulson covered in blood countless times, he got nervous over the other man perhaps catching an eyeful of what he had seen thousands of times before due to impromptu emergency aid or communal showers.

"Clint, no," Coulson said, lowering his voice. "You have to do this because you're an agent. I wouldn't think less of you, regardless. Please don't worry; you'll lose your focus, and then we're both in trouble. Shoot straight for me, Hawkeye. Okay?"

"Okay," Clint promised, "I will. Thank you..."

"You're welcome," Coulson said. "I have one more question for you, though, before we land."

"Uh? Oh, shoot," Clint replied, looking up at him from his place on the floor as he packed his bag back up, stowing the lingerie and weapons away for later.

"Did you think to bring food along with your little bag of tricks?" Coulson said, amused.

"No," Clint said. "You always have something for me to eat when I need it, so I just thought..."

It did things to his heart that Coulson couldn't quite explain when Clint said that. It meant that the other man trusted him with more that just the mission, and beyond 'the mission' lay things that, for their own sanity, Coulson had refused to explore during their whole partnership.

"Of course I brought food with me, Clint," Coulson said, keeping his voice warm to show Clint he wasn't in trouble. "Would you like a few protein bars for your bag in case we're separated?"

"Okay," Clint agreed. "Thanks for reminding me."

Coulson just gave him a smile as he put a box of protein bars and a case of protein shakes into Clint's bag, wishing only that he could give him more.

...

And that was how they had arrived at the Lonely Coyote, with Clint working a pole with more expertise Coulson had assumed possible and the handler himself nursing a steady supply of drinks.

Well, there had been other factors involved. Clint had been quick and crafty, and good with his words, his body. Now he stripped every night and had been doing so for the past three weeks. He was the new prize, the fresh meat, and Coulson could see Martinez watching him with every move he made.

Not that it was hard. Clint was...Clint was...

Coulson sighed and drained another drink, watching him strip.

Clint was like the rush of energy as magma forced its way up past the constraints of the earth; he was a sudden burst of fire and power. He was a burst lightbulb, glowing white-hot for an instant before leaving a lasting impression on the eyes of everyone that saw him.

The music restarted, and Clint began to dance anew.

He didn't start fast or frenzied, grinding away on the pole or working himself into a lather. Clint wound his way around it to the beat of the music; they gave him a song that began low and thick, like drumbeats pounded onto honey. He moved in kind, slow and sleek and easy, hooking his thumbs into his panties and pulling them down just enough to let the men crowded around the runway think he had let them see a glimpse of his cock.

Coulson ordered another whiskey sour and sighed, closing his eyes.

No. No, he wouldn't look anymore; he couldn't. To do so was unfair, impolite, and yes, he _would_ in fact worry about these things, because not only was that his partner up there dancing, Captain America would be _ashamed_. Steve would _never_ ogle Bucky if _Bucky_ was the one up there stripping, damn it.

Admittedly, he doubted the effectiveness of stripper tactics when it came to handling the H.Y.D.R.A. menace, so there was that to factor in. 

Still, he was hypnotized, and that wasn't good—and not only because he couldn't look his poster of Captain America in the eye anymore. He had to be on-target, and the target of his affections— _attentions_ , damn it—was not Clint Barton.

Except, it was.

How could it not be? 

Clint lifted himself up effortlessly onto the pole, his muscles flexing as he grasped it with his knees, holding himself up and reaching out his hands, letting them wander to his nipples, tweaking them lightly. The crowd threw money and hollered their approval. The louder it got, the lower Clint's hands went, until they were brushing the edge of his panties and Coulson wanted to scream, louder still than the dull roar of the club.

Clint threw his head back, untouchable and inexpressive, letting them have only his cock as he ran his fingers around the outline of the erection pressing up against the purple silk, tracing the 'H' emblazoned on it before lightly cupping his own balls and squeezing, spreading his legs wide enough to slide down the pole. 

Coulson still couldn't see his face, and that disturbed him. He knew why Clint did it, though; for his own sanity, his dignity, for the pride that made him so stubbornly beautiful. 

Still, though he hated it, he wanted to see Clint's face. He wanted to see what the other man looked like when he was coming undone; he wanted to see him have this pleasure, as fake and stilted as it was. It was the closest he could ever get, and the most he deserved.

Clint slid all the way down the pole before reaching up to grip it for support, arching his back and spreading his legs, flexing his hips and rubbing himself against the pole, shallowly thrusting againt it and tossing his head back, his hands shaking against the pole as he grit his teeth.

Coulson knew everyone else saw sweat running down his cheeks, but he knew the signs well enough to know what was going on. 

Clint was crying. 

A protective surge welled up in him, hot and fierce, and it took all his self-restraint not to run up to the stage and grab him, pull him off, shoot Martinez in the face, and just _leave._

That, however, would create both a scene and a power vacuum easily filled by another tyrant in the area. Coulson was fond of neither of these things.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking it off. That was why he had saved Martinez during the shootout a week after they'd arrived, as grudging as it had been; if they didn't send a message with the kill and clear out the other operatives, nothing would change, and more likely than not, they'd be back here in another month, Clint working the same damn pole.

Still. It had been so painful to watch Clint make his way through the past three weeks. He couldn't comfort him after a long, stressful mission in a hotel room somewhere; he slept with the other boys, in a basement enclosure Martinez jokingly referred to as his harem quarters. 

It wasn't far from the truth, but it was far from a lush sultan's palace; if Coulson hadn't wanted to shoot the man before, listening to the boys stifle tears downstairs and occasionally being the one picked to lead them up to the lavish quarters Martinez kept upstairs had been a hell of a motivator.

He had never been made to bring Clint up to him or anyone else, thank god, because that would have broken his cover, carefully crafted as it might have been. He knew it was only a matter of time; Clint was the most desireable thing in the club right now, and it was a cage the hawk had no choice but to remain bound in.

Coulson slept with the other men, listening to them discuss the boys downstairs and, sometimes, more necessary information pertaining to the drug routes Martinez commandeered runners on. That, Coulson took note of in the files S.H.I.E.L.D. kept on the cartel. The boys, he simply remembered, and waited for his chance to handle that personally.

When he could be with Clint, he was; brief interludes between dances and shifts, grasping his hand for a second and simply whispering something in his ear. Something like that could be written off easily as an infatuated client, nothing more; Coulson felt confident enough to give Clint those few moments of comfort and approval, especially considering no one seemed to notice. 

He had initially hated the power his approval had over Clint, and he still did, to a degree, but he couldn't deny the reality that it was more likely than not all that was keeping Clint going as he continued to dance these days. 

It was, but Clint never had the time to tell him. The thought that his agent was proud of him was at the back of his thoughts while he danced; it kept the music from consuming him, or his body from betraying him, or his mind from turning on him. Coulson was proud. Coulson believed in him. Coulson said he was doing a good job.

Another week passed, and Coulson had managed to ingratiate himself enough that he sat beside Martinez at the head of the stage while the boys danced that night. 

"We've got a great show planned tonight, you know," Martinez told him, speaking in lightly accented Spanish, a bottle of tequila in hand. "The prize pick's running it tonight; y'know, that little prettybird we picked up a month ago?"

"Yes, I know him," Coulson replied, sticking to the Spanish he remembered while trying not to let a twitch in his eye develop. "Any reason he's center stage, sir?"

"I've had my eye on him for awhile," Martinez explained, lighting a cigar and passing one to Coulson. He hated the smell of the things, but he took one to look polite. "I wanted to make sure that he wasn't a pretty flash in the pan, yeah? No, the kid's got talent. If he does well tonight...he's going to be rewarded. Personally."

Coulson was going to kill him tonight, damn the consequences. He would kill every other man here, too, if that was what it took to preserve the mission and keep Clint safe.  
He smiled and murmured an noncommital agreement as the lights dimmed and low, strong music began to play. 

They'd learned that was what Clint danced to best; when he danced, it was like sex, crescendoing and climaxing in a burst of frenzied lust. He took it slow, but he was strong the whole way through, and as he made his way out, naked save for a set of garters, silk stockings, and a G-string that barely hid anything on him, he made that clear.

Every move was slow and sleek, made to look as if it was both effortless and carefully chosen. Clint held onto the pole, lifting himself up and spreading his legs in a neat split before slowly lowering them back down and swinging himself around, coming to the edge of the stage to lean over inquisitively, a coquettish smile on his face as he grinned down at Coulson and Martinez, who watched intently.

Coulson just nodded, giving him a look that he hoped would be interpreted as reassuring rather than rebuking; Clint's face didn't change as he went back to the pole, bending over to grasp it and kneeling slowly as he did.

Clint suddenly bucked his hips up, lifting himself around the pole before using it to dip himself low, low enough to swing over and backflip until he was standing upright. When he grasped the pole again, he clung to it with one leg before he took off one of his stockings, slow and sensuous. 

When he pulled it away just in time for the music to crescendo, he ripped it free in a sudden yank, his arm muscles flexing. Coulson sucked in a sharp breath. Clint turned back to him, his blue eyes bright and wide with panic, anxiety and fear he had kept tamped down for far too long.

When he stalked over to their seats again, like a tiger slinking through the undergrowth, he proffered his stocking to Martinez, bowing deep enough to display himself to everyone else who cared to look. 

Before he left, Coulson grabbed his hand, and in a wild frenzy, unable to think about keeping cover, he kissed it lightly, barely a brush across the flushed skin.

Clint stared at him for a second before giggling, a light little laugh that didn't sound anything like the low, rough rasping laugh he knew Clint had when he was really, truly happy. Coulson just stared up at him, an agonized look in his eyes, before Clint sauntered off to the beat of a new song.

"Cute kid, isn't he?" Martinez said fondly. "He still shakes like a virgin when any of the guys get too close, though. I can't stand that."

Coulson's vision flashed red for a second before he saw the idea blooming past his rage. He might be able to work this.

"Far as I knew when I found him, he was a virgin, sir," Coulson said, choosing his words carefully. "His parents were glad to get him off their hands, and I figured he would be useful."

"Ahh, more interested in a career than cock. I can respect that," Martinez said. "Can't stand virgins, though. All my men laugh and tell me I'm out of my mind, but what can a virgin give you? Better off to stick your prick into a slab of cooked meat for all that a virgin can do."

"True enough," Coulson agreed, despite hating every word he spoke. "So, what are you going to do with him?"

"Ehn, put him up for bid. See how many takers he gets; we should be able to get some good cash for him, I think. Most of these boys, they go for a hundred, two hundred; a nice dinner somewhere, but what else can you do with that?" He asked, disdainful.

Coulson's blood suddenly screeched to a stop within him in shock. He felt cold and slick with panic, despite the burning heat of the Lonely Coyote's dusty innards.

They would pay to gang-rape him unless Coulson played his cards carefully. He had to do this right.

"He likes you, though," Martinez said, making Coulson jump. "He's always flitting around after you, the little prettybird. He's so shy about it, though. Virgin, definitely virgin."

Coulson shrugged, trying to appear as mild about the topic as possible. 

"He's young," Coulson said. "He's just flirting."

"Maybe, but it's something to take advantage of. If you've got the cash, break him in for me. You look like you'd be good at that," Martinez said. "Speaking of, let's see what he can do besides those pretty little dances of his. Hawkeye!"

Clint jumped, bowing off the pole and sliding off neatly, making his way over. Coulson saw his thighs quivering and resisted the urge to go for his gun.

"Sir," he murmured, ducking his head. "A-am I doing something wrong, sir?"

"No, no, you're doing fine. Better than fine, in fact. I'm just curious about something; before I let the boys place their bids, I want to see how our little prettybird handles being touched," Martinez said, a leer on his face. "You'd be surprised at how many of our best boys fall right to pieces when you touch them. It's easy to work a pole and stay up there, high and mighty and away from the rest of us...but down here in the dirt, you're not so different from the whores on the street, are you, prettybird?"

Clint nodded, keeping his head low and his shoulders hunched. 

"No, sir," he murmured. "M'not, sir."

"Good, good. Now, sit on his lap, prettybird," Martinez said, gesturing to Coulson.

His heart stopped short and stuttered. Even Coulson, master of the poker face, had his limits; a look of horrified shock crossed his face as he looked up at Clint.

With a slow, measured fall, Clint sat down on Coulson's lap, looking up at him and tilting his head.

He went to move, before Coulson put a gentle hand on his thigh, shaking his head and leaning in close.

" _No,_ " he whispered into Clint's ear, soft and gentle, " _No, Clint. I don't want it this way."_

It was Clint's turn to stare at him in shock. Coulson only realized what that implied when Clint nodded, leaning in to give his forehead a gentle, delicate kiss.

"Sir, I'd hate to have an unfair advantage over the other men," Coulson said, lightly pushing Clint away and letting him stand up. "If they're so eager to have him, I'd rather not make enemies of them by getting first chance at him without bidding."

"Oh, a clever one," Martinez said approvingly. "Fair enough. A smart move, too; Ramon has been eyeing him up all week, and you know how he is."

Coulson did. That would be Martinez's lieutenant; he was the man that had the boys breaking down in tears on the way upstairs, more often than not. Coulson felt a smug sense of satisfaction to know he would die with the rest of them soon enough, even if he could almost feel Captain America's disapproving gaze on the back of his neck.

Still, there were people he figured even Captain America would kill for. Clint happened to be his.

"Go back up on stage, prettybird," Martinez said, slapping his ass as Clint turned. "The boys are going to bid now."

Coulson's mind was whirring with panic as he watched Clint go to stand up, his knees still shaking as he raised his head high and looked out over the assembled group, all of whom were bidding so eagerly on his supposed virginity.

In a panic, Coulson realized he honestly didn't think Clint was a virgin, (though, considering he'd been on missions so often since S.H.I.E.L.D. had collected him from the circus at fifteen and the only other person he was with was Natasha, who was his sister more than his lover, it was a possibility.) He really hoped none of them would notice; not that it mattered, since the second anyone's hand was laid upon Clint, their head was getting blown off, but it might put him in unnecessary danger.

"All right, boys! One minute to bid, place your bets!" Martinez called.

Coulson went numb as the numbers rang out; forty dollars, seventy dollars, eighty dollars, numbers bleeding into one another as he fumbled for the wad of cash S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him as funds.

He checked the roll and clenched it, listening to the last few numbers called. Two men were bidding over him; Ramon and someone Coulson didn't recognize. Both men had one hand on their gun as they called out numbers.

"Six hundred!" The first man called. 

"Two thousand," Ramon replied, and a hush went over the crowd. No one had ever paid that much for anything that had come into the Lonely Coyote, carnal or otherwise.

Coulson checked his roll of cash and threw his last bit of caution to the wind. They'd spent a month here; no more. Clint was leaving tonight if it killed him.

"Eight thousand," he said, standing up and tossing the wad of foreign money down.

The entire club was dead silent.

Ramon stepped down, glowering at him; Coulson didn't care one bit, seeing the utter relief and joy on Clint's face as Martinez took the stack of cash between his fingers.

"Impressive," he said. "Do you want him upstairs?"

"Yes," Coulson replied. "Give him an hour; I have things to prepare."

"Kinky bastard," Martinez said playfully. "Still, for eight thousand, you ought to be."

Coulson nodded, passing Clint by and grasping his shoulder.

"Get the boys out," he said quietly. "Can you take the targets?"

"Quiver's upstairs," Clint said. "They're all down here anyway. I'll make my way across the street and pick 'em off from there. Won't be long."

"I gave you an hour," Coulson replied. Clint grinned.

"Twenty minutes," he said. "Meet you back at the hotel?"

Coulson remembered S.H.I.E.L.D. had set them up a hotel and sighed in relief, nodding. 

"Yeah," he murmured. "Be safe. I'll see you soon."

Clint just gave him a long, slow look, before he leaned in and kissed him.

It was light and chaste, but it lit Coulson up from the inside out, and he was smiling as he went outside. He was still smiling, in fact, when he was confronted with Ramon, snarling at him, spitting Spanish curses his way. 

He was smiling when he whipped out his gun and shot him point-blank; Clint would take care of the rest, but he wanted this one to himself.

After all, he'd almost taken his partner from him. That, Coulson would not abide.

He holstered his gun and strolled off to the hotel, humming a song Clint had taught him underneath his breath, slow and easy under the light of a lonely moon.

...

The two of them met later that night, Coulson sitting on the bed with their bags neatly packed, watching him. Clint sighed, running a bloodstained hand through his hair and kicking off the heels he had worn. Phil got up to meet him at the door, checking him over for injuries. Clint looked up at him and gave him a wide, silly grin; the kind only Coulson was ever treated to.

"Eight thousand dollars? That's it? That's all I'm worth, Coulson?" Clint teased, looking up at him.

"That was all S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me to cover the mission," Coulson said, keeping his face neutral. "Hope you don't mind eating ramen for the next few days."

There was a pause between the two as Clint stared at Coulson for a few minutes, calculating. Clint realized then what he was _really_ worth to Coulson; compromising the mission, throwing his plans all out of whack, all for the sake of ensuring Clint wouldn't have to screw one creep for his cover.

Clint grinned, leaning in to kiss him, slow and easy and warm. Coulson took a second, but when he kissed back, his lips were sweet and soft, fuller than Clint had anticipated and just as inviting as he had dreamed.

"Well," he said, "already got the target, so we can leave in the morning, if you wanna."

Coulson smiled, relieved, and then realized they were standing in front of Clint's hotel room door. He turned to head off to his own, but Clint grabbed him by the shoulder, turning around and snagging his tie, pulling him close and grinning.

"So," he purred, "feel like making tonight worth eight thousand bucks, Phil?"

Phil blushed bright red, right up to the tips of his ears, and Clint loved him dearly for that.

"You were worth more than that," he mumbled. "But, um. If you insist."

"I do," Clint said, leading him back into his room. "Plus, I need help getting out of this corset."

To his utter shock, Phil put his hands on the leather and smiled, leaning in to kiss his neck lightly. Clint shuddered and sighed in pleasure as Coulson led him inside and shut the door behind him, before pushing Clint gently down onto the bed and putting a knee between his legs, spreading them wide as he bent over to whisper in Clint's ear.

"Oh, I don't think so," he said. "Not for awhile yet."

This was the best undercover Clint had ever taken. Even factoring in the itchy stockings.

Coulson seemed to realize they were giving him trouble, though, and so he stripped them off before doing anything else; then he rolled Clint over and gave him a look. 

"Actually, would you like a shower first?" He asked. "You're a bit messy."

"Depends," Clint said with a smile. "Are you gonna wash me?"

"If you behave, yes," Coulson promised, giving him a kiss. "I'd like to talk before we go any further, though, if that's all right with you."

"Uh, sure, if you wanna," Clint said, tilting his head. Coulson helped him up off the bed and kissed his hand, leading him out of the hotel room and into the small shower. It would fit them both, but not very well; thankfully, Coulson didn't mind being pressed up againt Clint.

He soaped up a rag and began to wipe away the traces of the past few months; the old makeup and dirty stains that marred Clint's skin were swept away under the gentle circling of careful, gentle hands.

Clint hummed in content thanks; Coulson kissed his forehead and sighed, stroking his hair. 

"How long?" He asked as he moved down to wash Clint's back. "This can't be a new thing for you. You don't show affection like that."

"No, I don't," Clint agreed with a yawn and a nod. "I've loved you for a long time. I don't know when it really started, though. I just woke up one day to realize I'd been falling in love with you for as long as we were partners, and that was that."

"Oh," Coulson said, unsure of how to react to that. Clint meant it. He could tell that much. But if there was any reply he had expected from the archer, it hadn't been anything like that one.

"You?" Clint asked. "I could see it, you know. When I was up there dancing, you looked at me, and you...you looked like you were happy to see me. Y'know. Not like, because of...the stuff, but because you were proud. You looked like the most beautiful guy in the room, I guess."

Coulson held him close and kissed the top of his head, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. Clint smiled and let Coulson pet him for a second. He knew the other man; it would take him a few minutes, but eventually, he would get the sort of response he'd always dreamed of.

"I've loved you for quite some time," Coulson agreed quietly, scrubbing his chest and hips clean as he talked. "I couldn't begin to tell you when, either. You've just been a constant for so long in my life that I couldn't imagine living without you. I'm just grateful you've let me into your life, Clint."

"You'd be the first," the other man said, flexing his hips and groaning agreeably as Coulson kissed his neck. "But, thanks."

"No need," Coulson murmured. "You're such a good boy, Clint. A wonderful little treasure. I'm so proud of you. You did so well on this mission. And I know it took quite a lot to make this confession, darling. I'm so, so proud."

Clint closed his eyes and let that sink in. It felt like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, keeping out the chill of the winds that constantly whipped and beat at his body. Coulson was proud of him. Coulson loved him. Coulson...his Coulson.

Clint closed his eyes and let Coulson finished up scrubbing him before hastily cleaning himself off and turning the warm water off, leaving them desperate for each other's warmth as the room cooled.

"Would you like it if I made love to you?" Coulson asked. "You've been stuck in such a loud, filthy cage for so long, my prettybird. I want you to remember what it's like to feel good and clean and wanted again. If we do this, I'm going to be gentle."

"I..." Clint hesitated, unsure. He didn't know the first thing about gentle. How could he be sure he wanted something like that?

But...he wanted Coulson. And he trusted him. He'd take anything Coulson had to give.

"It'll still feel good?" Clint asked. "Y'know. I never did gentle, Coulson."

"Oh, I know, my dove, I know," Coulson cooed, kissing his neck and stroking his hair, gentle and attentive. "Ssh, ssh. You've never had anyone else be so loving and soft with you. That's all right. I'm so glad you put your trust in me to do that, Clint."

He kissed the nape of Clint's neck and hummed lightly against the skin, making him yip softly and jump, shocked.

"Yes, darling," Coulson promised. "Yes, I'll be gentle. I'll give you exactly what you want, and you won't have to do a single thing. Just listen to what I say and trust me, and I'll make you feel so good."

"What if I get scared?" Clint asked, feeling his skin prickle with nervousness in the chill of the room. He wouldn't admit it to anyone else that he was frightened; with Coulson, he didn't even _have_ to. Coulson just held him close and stroked his chest, making soothing little circles with his fingers.

"If you get scared, you tell me to stop," Coulson told him. "It'll be like in the field, Clint. If you're in danger or you're scared, tell me 'red.' Just like when we're out together. Okay?"

"Okay," Clint murmured, relaxing. Coulson felt the tension seeping out of him and sighed with delight at the feeling, kissing his ear, nibbling lightly at the shell as Clint shivered and shook beneath him.

"Now, Clint," Coulson said, resting a hand on Clint's thigh, "let's take this to the bed, all right?"

Clint nodded, eager and obedient, and followed after him, letting Coulson lead the way until they got to the bed.

It was soft; almost too much so, in fact, as when Clint rested on it, it groaned and sank, a valley forming around his perch. Coulson chuckled, amused, and nuzzled Clint's cheek lightly before pushing him gently down onto the bed, peppering his face with light, tender kisses.

Coulson stroked Clint's hair as gently as he could, careful and attentive as he played with the short, honey-colored strands. Clint nuzzled into his touch with his eyes closed; as Coulson continued his kisses, all the way down to his chest, Clint kept his eyes shut. The amount of trust that took overwhelmed Coulson enough that he couldn't help but smile, kissing Clint's nipple lightly as he reached up to stroke his jaw and neck.

"Good boy," Coulson murmured. "Good boy. What a wonderful, perfect boy you are, Clint. Thank you, thank you. I'm so glad you trust me."

Clint nodded, letting Coulson kiss his other nipple before licking them both lightly; quick little kisses, not meant to do anything more than get the dusky little peaks erect. He had his sights set on better things.

"Sir?" Clint said as Coulson kissed down his chest, nipping lightly at the lines of muscle and nuzzling at his hipbones. "Sir, can I...um...I want to..."

"Oh, baby, ssh, no. That's not what we're here for. I want to make you feel good, my sweet little hawk. Ssh, ssh, you don't have to do a thing," Coulson promised. Clint shook his head.

"No, uh—it'd...it'd make me feel really good if we, uh...traded positions," Clint mumbled. "Just for awhile? Please, sir? Please, please, I really wanna..." 

Coulson considered it as he leaned over Clint and looked into the other man's eyes. He wasn't frightened, but if Coulson kept going down roads he didn't understand, at least when it came to sex, he would panic. Better to let Clint acquaint himself with his body, get him used to the routine, even if he wasn't technically doting on him while he did so.

Phil nodded in agreement, climbing up on the bed and letting Clint settle in, laying on his chest and snuggling close. For a second, he just remained where he was, petting Coulson's shoulders and stroking his chest, doodling little circles into his skin. Coulson kissed his forehead and hugged him tight as Clint nuzzled into his neck.

"I love you, sir," he mumbled, giving him a sweet grin. "Permission to call you Phil?"

"You've had my permission since you kissed me," Phil said. "You may call me whatever you like, Clint."

"Okay, Captain Snugglebottoms," Clint teased, kissing his neck before nuzzling his way down his chest. Coulson ruffled his hair and huffed, giving him a fond smile as Clint lapped at his nipples and kissed the scars on his shoulders.

He made his way slowly down Coulson's body, paying attention to every detail; Phil had never been with someone who was so focused on all of him, down to the stray scars and birthmarks. Clint kissed them all as much as he kissed his hipbones and nuzzled at his inner thighs, worshipful and attentive.

"May I...I mean, Phil...would you let me suck your cock?" Clint asked, looking up at Phil, his shoulders hunched and hesitant. Coulson stroked his hair.

"We do it my way, baby. I'm going to talk you through it, and you're going to go slow and gentle. Okay?" Coulson said. "Can you follow those rules?"

"Yes, Phil," Clint replied. "Please, can I...?"

"Go right ahead," Coulson said, stroking his hair and sitting up a bit so Clint could kiss at the dark, curly hairs around his cock, mouthing at the warm, full sack before him as his thumb came up to hold Phil's cock steady. Phil sucked in a sharp breath as his penis throbbed, anticipating Clint's warm mouth.

"Beautiful boy," Coulson murmured. "Such a pretty boy. You can be so obedient when you find the right master, can't you, sweetheart? You listen so well. I'm so proud. I love you very, very much Clint. You behave so well for me."

Clint smiled, a dopey, sappy grin that spread across his whole face and lit it up. 

"Love you too, Phil," he replied. "Uh...how do I do this gentle? Do I give it a kiss, or...?"

He blushed and looked away, shaking his head. Coulson tsked and stroked his hair.

"No, darling," he murmured. "Don't be shy. You're not doing anything wrong. You need to relearn a lot, and that's okay. Yes, Clint. You can give it a kiss if you'd like."

Clint leaned down and brushed his lips against the head of Phil's penis, his tongue lightly toying with the slit as precum spurted out in tiny dribbles over his lips. Phil inhaled slowly and steadied himself before murmuring, "Good boy, Clint. It's all right. You're doing just fine, little hawk. Give it another kiss when you're ready. Once I know you're comfortable with it, you can suck the head."

Clint nodded and licked up the cum from around his lips before giving the head another kiss, then two more; one on each side, his tongue running up the slick skin, pulsing red beneath his tongue, the beat of passion in his veins making Phil's penis throb when Clint touched it, hesitant.

"Good boy," Phil managed to tell him despite the blinding lust creeping in across his vision. "Good boy, such a good boy. Clint, open up your mouth. You can take it in now, princess."

Clint's eyes lit up, and he opened his mouth to take the whole length before him in; Phil grasped his shoulder and shook his head.

"No, princess," he said. "We're going slowly. We're taking this at the pace I know you can handle. Just the head, little hawk. Suck for me, nice and easy."

Clint looked like he wanted to protest, but his desire to obey Coulson overrode his confusion; he nodded, taking only the head of Coulson's cock into his mouth and sucking lightly at it, the warmth of his skin, flushed with blood, making his whole mouth hot and eager as he ran his tongue over Coulson's slit and collected the precum that had flowed up there onto his tongue.

Coulson continued to stroke Clint's hair and murmur comfortingly down at him, holding Clint steady as he sucked. He was slow and careful, running his tongue over the tip and around the rim of his head. Coulson hissed softly, a sharp exhale of breath, when Clint licked at his glans and sucked hard at his tip.

"Clint, you're doing so well..." Coulson promised. "Good boy, Clint. Such a good boy. I'm so proud of you..."

Clint looked up at him, his eyes shining, and pulled away from Coulson's cock with a slow suck, his lips leaving the tip with a pop as he pouted, eager.

"Phil, please, can I take it all in? Please, please, I promise I'm ready!" Clint said, looking up at him with a wide-eyed, pleading gaze. Coulson sighed and smiled, amused, and stroked his hair.

"We'll give it a try, love," he said. "If I tell you you're going too fast, though, you'll stop for me, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Clint said, his eyelids fluttering as his shoulders shuddered with pleasure; Coulson's orders were driving him mad in a way neither of them understood but were only too happy to enjoy.

He opened his mouth a bit wider and took all of Coulson in, inhaling through his nose as he swallowed inch by inch, taking Coulson's cock in until he was pressed against the warm, dark curls that smelled like Phil, like home. He felt more at ease here than anywhere else.

Phil stroked his hair as Clint lay there for a few minutes, lightly suckling and no more; it felt good to simply sit between Coulson's legs and suck, to remain where he was and do as he was told. It was perfect, just perfect. 

"You can go a little faster, Clint," Coulson told him, keeping his voice gentle. "Be careful, though; I don't want to come. Not yet."

Clint nodded, licking and kissing and moving his mouth up and down Coulson's shaft, taking in its warmth and sighing in bliss as he took in his lover's scent, his warm musk that had Clint going dizzy from the overwhelming smell of Phil; soft and hot and sort of like gunpowder and paper, clean but sharp and so good...

He swallowed every drop of pre-cum he was rewarded with, until finally, Coulson pulled lightly at his hair to make him move. Clint whined, but did as he was told, dragging his lips away and pulling his head off Coulson's cock with a wet, filthy-sounding pop.

"You did very well," Coulson told him. "You were a very good boy, and I'm so proud of you. Are you going to keep behaving?"

"Yes, sir," Clint promised. "Sir, I—I just want to please you, Phil. Please, please..."

"All right," Coulson murmured. "I understand. You're so new to this, aren't you? Has any other lover been so gentle with you, Clint?"

He shook his head and slumped his shoulders, miserable. Coulson cooed softly, pulling him up and kissing his mouth, gentle and considerate.

"Oh, it's all right, it's all right...hush, my little hawk. You'll never have anyone else, will you?" He asked.

"No, sir," Clint promised. "No, sir, never. I just want you, Phil. Only you, always. I mean, I always wanted you, sir. Please, I want—"

"Hush, Clint," Coulson shushed him. "It isn't about what you want. You don't know what that is yet. You've had too many people who wanted to hurt you tell you what you wanted. I don't think you really know what you want, do you, little hawk?"

Clint shrugged, burying his face into Coulson's neck.

"I dunno," he said, his voice softening, becoming younger and more vulnerable. "I dunno. I'm sorry I'm so dumb, honest."

"You're not dumb, my beautiful, perfect little hawk," Coulson hushed him, his tone sweet and slow as syrup. "Don't say that. I wouldn't tolerate anyone else calling you such names, and I'll hold you to that as well."

Clint nodded, cuddling into Coulson's lap. He wasn't embarrassed about the other man holding him, even though he thought he should be. Especially because he was naked.

But...it felt nice. And Coulson wasn't teasing him or pushing him to have sex. He was just holding him, and it was _amazing._

"It's all right that you don't know what you want. No one's taught you how to figure it out. You just need a bit of work and some learning, and you'll be all right," Coulson promised. "Until then, I bet you want to feel good, right?"

"I wanna feel you, sir," Clint replied, and Coulson's cock twitched despite himself. 

"Well, I want to make you feel good, Clint," Coulson promised. "Can you trust for right now that I have your best interests at heart, and that I'll only do things you want?"

"Yessir," Clint said, "I mean, I can. I promise. I'll trust you."

Coulson kissed both his cheeks before giving him a slow, soft kiss on the mouth, nibbling at his bottom lip.

"Oh, wonderful," Coulson said, keeping his voice gentle. "Good boy. Such a brave, good little boy. I love you so much, Clint. I'll take very good care of you. I'll always take good care of you."

He put Clint down on the bed and ran a hand down his back.

"Lie down on your tummy and stay still until I tell you otherwise, little hawk," Coulson said, ruffling his hair and leaning down to speak softly to him. "Can you do that for me?"

Clint nodded, getting comfortable on his stomach as Coulson rifled through his bag, pulling out a bottle of lube. He dumped a generous amount into his palm and slicked up his fingers before murmuring, "Up on your hands and knees, Clint."

"But I—I...can I see you?" Clint asked. "I want to be gentle, I want it, honest..."

"I know you do, and I want to give it to you," Coulson said, "but I have to prepare you first, Clint, and this is an easier position to do it in. I'm just making sure I won't hurt you, Clint."

He nodded, rearranging himself so he was propped up on his hands and knees, his ass swaying hesitantly a bit as he presented himself to Coulson. He had to give himself a moment to steady his breathing before he could control himself long enough to slick up Clint's tight, pale pink entrance and rub his thumb along the puckered surface and make him yip, shocked.

Coulson laughed at the sound, kissing his back.

"What pretty noises you make, little hawk," he murmured tenderly. "Do that for me as often as you like. I love the sounds you make, Clint."

Clint did not disappoint; Coulson prepped him, slow and steady, a warm burn forming in his bottom and growing ever stronger and spreading ever wider as Coulson's fingers remained himself him and rubbing at his warm insides. As he took care of him, careful as he could possibly be not to injure or hurt him, Clint moaned and whimpered, little yips and grunts and cries of pleasure that had Coulson tingling from the groin outward, the burn spreading until even his hands were warm with the pleasure.

He held Clint's hips steady as he continued to touch him, searching carefully; he had been in his fair share of awkward encounters, (though admittedly none of them were nearly as perfect as this), and he had a vague idea of what he was looking for...

They remained that way for awhile, Coulson being as careful and methodical as possible in preparing Clint, so as to ensure he wouldn't feel pain from being penetrated. Clint kept bucking back up against his fingers, but Coulson didn't speed up in his touch despite that; he continued on with his gentle stroking. It drove Clint wild, and his pleas began to go from demanding to begging, all his dignity gone from the simple touches of a careful hand.

By a single lucky stroke, he pressed his fingers against a little bundle of nerves and heard Clint scream in bliss. Coulson smiled, triumphant, and continued to work the tiny knot of flesh within him, toying with it as Clint began to rock back into his hand, his eyes bright with unshed tears of desperation. He thrust shallowly against the sheets when pushing against Coulson didn't get him any more pleasure; when Coulson's fingers moved away for but an instant, Clint babbled out a string of apologies and stayed where he was.

He was very quiet and gentle as he slicked up a few more of his fingers and entered the third one in. Clint rewarded him with raw screams of pleasure and agony then, completely gone already, his voice cracking as he began to moan Coulson's name, writhing on the bed until Phil kissed him and murmured softly, "Relax, darling. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Need," Clint begged, clearly desperate for his touch, "need, Phil, please, please please please, Phil, c'mon..."

"Soon, my darling," Coulson promised quietly, "soon. But you have to relax."

Clint did as he was told, though it was clear he didn't appreciate it. Coulson gave him a tender kiss as a reward and an attempt to distract him from the pain, soft and tender in his touch as he began to stretch Clint out further. 

Coulson kissed his back and gave his prostate a few more luxurious, languid strokes before he pulled away and stroked Clint's hair with his clean hand, wiping his other hand free of lubricant on one of the spare towels. Clint whined in anticipation, looking up at him eagerly. Coulson could never disappoint Clint, and certainly not when he wore that expression.

"You want this?" He asked, though it was a moot point by now. Clint nodded, eager, giving him a sweet smile so at odds with the pre-cum spattered on his chest and the slick coating his thighs. 

"Please," he said. "Please, sir, if...if I deserve it."

"Oh, love," Coulson murmured, affectionate as he picked him up and settled him in on his back, propped up against the pillows with care. "You don't need to deserve me. I give myself to you freely. I know you're a good boy, Clint. You don't have to prove it. You never did."

Clint moaned from that alone, gripping the sheets. Coulson kissed his forehead.

He realized at this point that whatever was in their relationship, he still controlled Clint, even here; it would have troubled him had he not seen in every moan and plea for more how much Clint loved it, how desperate he was for that loving control and gentle domination. It made him into the person he always hid at work; the scared little kid with a split lip S.H.I.E.L.D. had picked up from the circus, desperate for affection and a guiding hand. The Clint he saw now, writhing desperately on the bed for his touch, was a side of Clint only Coulson was allowed to see, and of that, he couldn't be prouder.

Coulson gave the domination and care he needed freely. For Clint's sake, because he needed it, and for his own sake, because he wanted to give it to him. As odd arrangements went, it was a pretty good one, as far as he was concerned.

"I'm right here, Clint," he promised. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. Spread your legs for me?"

Clint did so without a second's hesitation, hanging them in the air, vulnerable and quivering as he bared his entrance and flushed erection to Coulson, submissive. Phil kissed his neck as he held Clint steady, before finally cupping the back of his head, kissing his forehead, and nudging the head of his cock inside Clint.

He thrust in and out of Clint slowly, so as to test Clint's tolerance for the burn of a cock inside him; he would have continued with his gentle thrusts, but before he could, Clint's fingers had dug into his back and he snarled desperately in his ear, "More. "

Coulson figured he had teased Clint for long enough at this point.

He kissed Clint's cheek and began to thrust harder, rougher, his fingernails digging into Clint's hips as he grabbed them for purchase, situatating Clint against the bed so that he was practically yanking the archer back onto his cock with every other thrust. Phil was almost mortified at how easily he gave into those animal tendencies, but if Clint's wails and whimpers were any indication, he didn't mind.

His thrusts became more erratic, rougher and stronger as Clint bucked back up against him, his face flushed and his eyes wide, full of desperate desire and the need to be filled, completely and totally, by someone he trusted. Coulson held him close, then, and pulled out until just the head of his cock remained in Clint.

Before Clint could whimper about it, he inched back in, filling him slowly, making him lie back and take every inch of him in, experiencing the sensation of being filled beyond what had seemed capable. Clint would have protested the slow pace in any other case, but he was too busy lying on the bed, mind effectively blown and legs quivering uselessly as Coulson kissed his neck, tender and loving, before he filled him up entirely, the tip of his cock pressing against Clint's prostate.

"Right there," Clint whispered desperately, "right there please, right there, thrust, Phil, please, I c-can't—Phil, what do I have to do to _come_ , Phil, I've been good..."

"You're doing just fine, darling," Coulson replied gently, "this isn't meant to be a punishment. I know you've been a good boy."

He grinned and stroked his hair, tender and attentive as Clint gasped and whimpered. "This is your reward."

Clint wailed at the top of his lungs as Coulson thrust back in, right against his prostate. He was so close—Coulson could feel his cock throbbing in between their chests, and the walls of his entrance were gripping at him, hot and insistent with impending orgasm. Coulson reached his hand in between the two of them and began to stroke, very slowly toying with Clint's penis, rubbing the head as he continued to thrust in.

Two more thrusts and a few gentle touches and Clint came undone. Cum spurted from his tip and over the both of them as Clint moaned and cried in low, broken tones, shaking as Coulson kissed his forehead and wiped him clean, licking up Clint's cum for himself as Clint whimpered and gasped in abject pleasure.

"Thank you," Clint said when he found his words again. "Thank you for taking care of me, Phil. I know it was kind of weird, but..."

"But nothing," Coulson replied, cutting him off and helping him into a shirt for the night, tucking him in and laying down beside him. "I've always taken care of you. I enjoy doing it, Clint. I wouldn't be in this bed if I didn't."

Clint nodded, snuggling close hesitantly. Coulson yanked him forward and into a deep, sweet kiss, to remove all doubt.

"So, um...sir? What now?" Clint asked, tilting his head. Coulson chuckled.

"Now we go to sleep and go catch a plane back to base in the morning," he said. "Get some sleep, Clint."

"No, I mean, uh...about us, sir," Clint said, averting his gaze. "I know it's dumb, but...I was just wondering what you...if you wanted us to be, you know...like, a thing."

"Clint, I love you," Coulson said. "But I won't force you into this."

"You're not forcing me," Clint promised. "I want you, a lot. Please. More than I know how to put into words, 'cause I'm not really a poet or whatever, but I love you a lot. Please, please stay. I'll be good."

"You always are, Clint," Coulson replied, his heart aching at the little boy he heard in those words, begging for him to approve, to love him, to stay. "Come here, darling."

He laid his head on Coulson's chest, and Phil marveled for what must have been the billionth time that night that Clint trusted him enough to be so vulnerable.

"I'm staying," Coulson promised. "Even if you get mad at me or don't think you deserve it or anything like that, you know I won't leave. You're mine, Clint, and when we get back to base, that can just be something between the two of us, or everyone can know. It's about what you want, because I don't care about any of them one way or another. You are my agent, my priority, and my greatest asset. In bed and out."

Clint actually laughed, and Coulson cracked a grin, relieved, when Clint lightly kissed the corner of his jaw.

"I love you, Phil," Clint said. "Uh...thanks. I mean. And...we'll work the rest out as we go. 'Cause you're all that matters, and I have you now, so...we can figure other stuff out later."

"Yes, we can," Coulson agreed. "After some sleep. Get to bed, Clint. We'll see each other in the morning."

Clint nodded, giving him one last sleepy kiss before closing his eyes and falling asleep on Coulson's chest, his breathing soft, easy, and steady as the wind Coulson could hear whistling past their window.

He stroked Clint's hair in the silence for a long time and thought about how much this one chatty, boisterous sniper had somehow wormed his way into the recesses of his heart.

His tattoo twinged, as if reminding him of all he had done with Clint, for Clint; he chuckled quietly and buried his face into the other man's hair.

It was worth it. Whatever had happened, no matter how it had happened, it had all been worth it.

But perhaps next time they told this tale to another audience, Coulson wouldn't mention a few certain aspects of their get-together. The corset and stockings, for starters.

He kissed Clint one more time and fell asleep with a smile on his face, awaiting the dawn of the new day with Clint tucked away safe and sound in his arms, where he would remain.


	2. Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson does some research. Clint and Phil ruminate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Christ, I didn't realize I'd had so much for this.  
> Okay, for what it's worth, two things.  
> One, this is going to be part of a larger universe, but I don't know how I feel about series, and thus, separate works, as of right now. If you'd rather this all remain one large fic, let me know!  
> If I do end up doing a series, it'll probably start post-Avengers and include a few other pairings. ^^  
> Two, well, I want this to be as far and away from any sort of 50 shades crap as is humanly possible. D/S relationships have their own sort of framework and I want to at least try for some semblance of reality.  
> Okay, a third thing; someone noticed Phil didn't reach orgasm. There's a reason~ Not a world-changing one but it will be brought up, yes!  
> Okay, damn it, a FOURTH thing; this might not be updated with the insane frequency of my other fics. For this, I apologize, and I will do my best to keep updates steady.

The next few weeks at work after their return had been interesting, for want of a better word.

"You can stop giving me _that look,_ Director," had been the first thing out of Coulson's mouth when they had returned.

"Congratulations," Fury said without missing a beat. "Natasha's missed you both."

"She has?" Coulson said, touched. The Widow's shows of affection were rare, but welcome. Still, if—

"Then she isn't here because..." He trailed off as Fury gestured towards the giant ship idling with an utter lack of inconspicuity while the two of them walked back towards said Helicarrier.

"Because Barton's already on board and ready to head back home," he said, "and she caught him on the way."

Coulson blanched; Fury chuckled.

"Hopefully you were good enough that whatever gossip session is going on between those two results in something pleasant," he told him, patting his shoulder lightly before letting Coulson slink onto the ship with a sigh.

...

"It is finished," Natasha said, "this ridiculous little dance between you both?"

"Don't give me that goddamn smug look," Clint grumbled, heading towards the briefing division's hall on the Helicarrier. "And _yes,_ if you're gonna be a bitch about it."

"Of course I am," she agreed, nonchalant. "He does not hurt you?"

"He's _Phil_!" Clint snapped, rounding on her with an intensity that shocked even her, used to Clint's emotions as she was. "Don't you _trust him?_ Of _course_ he doesn't! He—he's _Phil Coulson_!"

Natasha was quiet, allowing Clint a few minutes to re-collect himself. As they walked together, she smiled after a few minutes of deliberation.

"Oh, Clint," she said, amused. "I am certain he would be honored to know of your trust in him."

"I, uh," Clint mumbled, "I think he knows. Sorta. I showed him...I showed him my thing, Nat."

"You are certainly full of surprises today," Natasha said, not even trying to hide her shock as they entered the debriefing office, collecting the mission paperwork together before going to find it and split it with Coulson. "What prompted this?"

"Dunno...was kinda worried I was gonna get gang-raped, but I didn't, so I was just...really happy he was my, like...not first, but, like...first. For stuff like this. Also, it helped that I wasn't fucked in a really itchy pair of stockings. Do you wear those all the time? Like, is that a woman thing? Because if so, I'm keeping my penis," Clint said. Natasha huffed.

"That isn't all it is. Don't lie to me. I've broken the kneecaps of better men for less than that," she admonished him lightly.

"You have _not,_ " was Clint's only reply as they headed into the main deck of the Helicarrier. A smirk played across her lips.

"Perhaps not _better_ men," she amended.

"Good enough," Clint said, satisfied. "Anyways...it's, uh...a lot to talk about. Mind...doing this later?"

"I wish to know only one thing, Clint," Natasha asked. "You are doing this out of love for him, yes? Not what he can provide or the authority he has—but who he is?"

"Jesus _Christ_ , of _course!_ What the fuck do you take me for, Nat?" Clint snapped, giving her a sharp look full of hurt and confusion.

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his hair and stroke his forehead.

"A hurt man who needs the sort of comfort he thinks a man like Coulson can provide," she told him, "but in thinking he does not deserve it, will go to great and unnecessary lengths to keep it."

"Please, god, don't psychoanalyze me," Clint said, "I've been stripping for what feels like forever, I just want to go home, shower, and go to bed."

"As you wish, Clint," Natasha agreed. "But...I suppose we shall talk later."

"Later," another voice agreed, making them both jump. "Clint's top priorities are exactly what he needs, which is good; shower, then bed. Dinner in between, perhaps, if you're not falling asleep on me in the bathroom."

Clint's whole face lit up when he saw Phil; Natasha hugged him, relieved. Coulson stroked her hair for a quick second before murmuring, "Good to see you again, Nat."

"Likewise," she said. "I missed you both. I've been on a mission dealing with Tony Stark for awhile now; I only came back to see you both."

"Oh, _Christ_ ," Phil said, which told them both exactly what he thought of that.

"Oh, and Fury's going to need you two out again, and soon," Natasha said, an apologetic slump to her shoulders. "It's something else to do with this damned Avengers Initiative..."

"It's fine," Coulson said, "but Clint needs some downtime first."

"I can go—"

"No, you can't," Coulson said, cutting him off abruptly and making Clint more than a little weak-kneed with his shift in tone. "What you can do is give me that paperwork so I can start it. We've got a few hours until we get home; I want something in you that's better than the gruel in the mess hall, so if you don't think it will mess up your schedules too badly, how about you both do me a favor and sit with me in here while I work and you nap?"

"Yes, sir," Clint agreed quietly, slumping bonelessly into Coulson's shoulder the second he had the chance. Natasha took a second longer, just long enough to observe the ease with which Clint moved around Coulson now, but Coulson was hers too; she sank against him and closed her eyes, letting him handle things as the world spun on around them.

...

When they arrived back on base, Natasha stayed behind for a debriefing that wasn't entirely necessary, but would allow Clint and Coulson some privacy at home. She shooed them out towards Coulson's car with a smile on her face, leaving in a slash of black leather across the dimly-lit parking lot, letting both men drive home.

"Shower and bed, sir?" Clint mumbled, yawning widely.

"I'll make you some garlic pasta while you shower," Coulson amended. "I'd like it if you put something nutritious in your stomach that wasn't a protein shake, princess."

Clint looked away for a second; Coulson stroked his hair, as if he understood.

"I'm never going to call you that anywhere but in private," he promised. "I suppose it's simply an indicator of how much I'd like to pamper you, Clint. If it truly bothers you, I won't —but are you more nervous that people will find out than negative about the pet names?"

"...I, I dunno, sir," Clint mumbled, hesitant. "I mean...yeah, but...I'm not...embarrassed, I just..."

"This is a whole lot to take in all at once," Coulson said, keeping his voice gentle. "For now, one question; may I keep calling you princess, Clint?"

"Pretty please," Clint murmured in agreement. "Uh, I mean, yeah."

"All right," Coulson said, satisfied. "Then that's nicely settled. We'll worry about everything else later. Complexities are for when we don't have one night before our next mission."

"Yeah," Clint agreed with a yawn as Coulson pulled into the driveway. "So, uh, shower, sir?"

"Yes, Clint," Coulson said. "And can you please call me Phil? Why don't we save sir for when you need it, or when we're working?"

"I...I like the way it sounds on my lips," Clint confessed as they got out of the car. "I know that's dumb. I like the way Phil sounds, too. So I'll be okay. Just, uh—don't think it's so bad that I call you sir, 'kay?"

"Okay," Coulson agreed, giving him a quick kiss. "Up to the shower with you, Clint. I'll meet you in our bedroom. We'll use mine from now on, since I actually know how to keep mine neat."

Clint squawked in protest, but Coulson's teasing grin soothed him; he huffed and strutted upstairs to shower and throw a few things he'd need immediately into their room.

He beamed at the idea of calling it 'their' room and went to take a shower as Phil started the pasta, both of them deep in thought as they went about their routine.

...

Clint soaped up, scrubbed his shoulders, and began to wash himself clean, thinking only of Coulson.

Natasha had been right. He'd never done this with anyone before. He'd had a few quick fucks, but they were nothing; a release from the adrenaline, nameless faces and warm hands. He had never trusted anyone with the things he was giving to Coulson, not like this. Natasha knew full well about them, but this was...this was different.

Clint laid his head against the tiles and sighed, throwing a hand up as he kept scrubbing, reaching between his thighs to purge himself of the phantom feelings of the sweat-soaked panties he'd worn every night at the club.

He had always loved Coulson, always trusted him. The trick now was making sure Phil realized how deep that ran...and that he wasn't scared off by it.

He trusted Phil. He believed in Phil. He knew he was better than that; he hadn't been lying to Natasha. But this...this was a lot.

Clint just ignored it and kept washing himself off. They'd solve it later.

Downstairs, Phil was having a similar crisis of faith, confused and concerned as he cooked dinner.

Clint was complex on his best day. But this was something else entirely; a side of Clint he had never seen before. He needed to be careful with it, to explore it in its entirety and treat it gently, or risk losing it—and Clint along with it.

He stirred the pasta as it boiled and the garlic as it hissed within the oil, contemplative. Talking about it was something they didn't have time for, not yet; Clint was exhausted and needed sleep. What he did know, however, was that Clint sought his approval, sought his orders, and needed his control—in bed and out.

That was something he had to be careful with; the level of trust that much dependency required was one he honestly didn't know how he had acquired from Clint, all things considered. He had to be careful.

He would be, he knew that, but Phil also knew he had to probe this at least a little tonight. Just a few quick questions. The rest could be solved later, after they had some time to themselves.

Coulson finished the pasta, added parmesean, and carried two bowls upstairs on a tray with two bottles of juice sitting neatly alongside them, just in time to watch Clint walk out of the shower, drip-drying by the look of things.

"Hey," he said, and Clint's back shivered at the simple word alone. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Clint admitted, stretching with a yawn. "Smells yummy, Phil."

"It ought to. You know how I am about my cooking," Coulson said, watching Clint relax and lighten up. He hadn't even realized how tense he was, but the smile on his face at its release was genuine.

"Yeah, I do," he said, climbing onto the bed as Coulson changed. "So, uh, what do you want me to wear?"

Coulson paused mid-dress, before slowly re-asserting his thoughts. He pulled his pants on and a shirt with them, shaking his head.

"I honestly don't mind what you wear, Clint, as long as you're comfortable," he said. "I don't need to order you to wear or not wear pajamas."

"But, I, uh," Clint hedged, gripping the sheets. He was tense again; Coulson frowned, stroking his hair and shushing him.

"I, uh. I want. You to. Please," Clint said, each word forced out and shaking. Coulson nodded. Another thing he needed to explore and understand, and soon.

"Very well," he agreed. "Please put something on, Clint. It's a bit cooler in here than it was in Mexico."

"Not by much, but yeah, a bit," Clint replied, all the tension gone out of him again as he went to go dress himself. Coulson beckoned him back once he was dressed, getting Clint sitting beside him in bed.

On a whim, before Clint could grab the bowl for himself, Coulson picked up his bowl and pressed a forkful of pasta to his lips.

He had been semi-joking; not that he would tease Clint about such a thing, but he had hoped it might make Clint laugh, or tease him back, to remind him he could do that without fear of discipline. Instead, Clint moaned and smiled, opening his mouth obediently and letting Coulson feed him the bite.

"Oh," Coulson murmured. "You like that, darling?"

Clint nodded, pulling away and averting his gaze.

"I, uh. Yeah, if that's...were you testing me or something?" He asked, hesitant.

"No; I was just playing around a bit. I don't want you to be tense. I'd rather you feel like you can be relaxed in my presence, Clint. I'm not going to punish you," Coulson promised. "If you'd like me to feed you, though..."

Watching Clint take that bite, so obedient and timid as he had accepted the offering, had done things to Coulson that were still gnawing at his insides. He might be pushing too fast, too far, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Yes, please," Clint murmured, a tiny smile on his face. "I'd really like it if you fed me, Phil. Honest."

"We're going to have to talk about what you are and aren't okay with," Coulson said as he gathered him a forkful of pasta. "I want this with you, Clint. But I'd like to do a little more research and have a few more talks before we go farther."

"Yeah, me too," Clint agreed before sitting and waiting patiently, quiet until Coulson pressed a bite of food to his lips. He nibbled at the macaroni, his bites careful and well-paced as he chewed.

"Good boy," Coulson murmured. "You like that, don't you? You love the praise, the pet names, all the kind things no one's ever told you before. It's all right, Clint. I'm here."

"Y-yes, I do, sir. Thank you, sir," Clint mumbled, shy. Coulson let him have some peace and quiet after that, Clint's time now taken up by eating the bites of dinner that Phil fed him.

"It's going to be all right," Phil promised again. "I'll keep telling you that until you believe me. Honestly, Clint, I swear to you; we'll figure this out."

"Mhm," Clint mumbled. "I believe you, Phil."

Coulson knew he did, but getting Clint to trust that belief was another story entirely. So he simply sighed, stroked Clint's hair, and fed him the last bite of his pasta before eating his own share, not so quickly that Clint might fuss, concerned, but quicker than normal. He was eager to put Clint to bed—then, once the archer was asleep, do a bit of research on his own.

"Time for bed, little hawk," Coulson said. Clint yawned, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, I could go for that," he agreed. "Sir, could you, uh...could you put me to bed?"

Coulson raised an eyebrow, but didn't protest. He was curious now. "And what would that entail, Clint?"

"Uh," Clint mumbled, "I just..like, put me under the covers and stroke my hair and tell me it's okay to sleep...that you love me and you'll see me in the morning. If that's okay."

"Oh, Clint," Coulson said, his voice soothing as he did his best to hide his concern, "that's what I was planning to do anyway."

Clint relaxed in one fell swoop, sinking down beneath the covers as Coulson tucked them up around his chin. Phil threaded his fingers through Clint's hair, stroking and petting the thin, soft strands that shone like dark honey in the dim light.

"Goodnight, princess," Coulson murmured. "It's okay. It's time for you to rest. I love you so much, Clint. I'm so lucky to have you. And I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay," Clint mumbled, the words on the verge of a yawn. "Love you too."

He was asleep seconds after, falling asleep with the feeling of Coulson's fingers still in his hair. Phil kissed his forehead and waited until his breathing got heavy and deep—which for a light, fearful sleeper like Clint, took another twenty minutes—to take his laptop out from its place beside the bed. He opened it up, turned it on, and accessed his internet browser. After that, with a face that was slowly turning red, he carefully typed in "domination and submission relationships" without actually looking at what he was typing.

Despite his initial embarrassment, Phil steeled himself and got over it for Clint's sake, looking at link after link until his brain was full of information. Once he was certain he'd got the general gist of things, he got more specific.

He was Clint's dominant. That much he could tell; it didn't take a genius to figure that one out. He didn't worry much about himself for the moment; frankly, he was already more than used to ordering people around and staying in control of a situation, and working out the kinks and learning new things from that standpoint wasn't so hard.

It was the submissive thing. The idea of a submissive Clint, more specifically. Clint was one of the most hardened, cynical, openly defiant and sarcastic S.H.I.E.L.D. assets he'd ever met, and that was on a good day.

Except for when he wasn't. Except for when he crawled into Coulson's lap after a particularly tough mission and sobbed into his suit lapels. Except for when he woke up screaming from nightmares and he and Natasha had to ensure he didn't sleep for the rest of the night, so he wouldn't need to see things like that anymore. Except for when he thought of the circus, or Barney, or a failed op, or being scolded, yelled at, or having someone being disappointed in him.

So, Clint Barton was a man of contradictions. That, Coulson was relatively unsurprised by, all things considered. Still, it meant he had a lot to tease out of the cracks of Clint Barton's consciousness, and this whole 'submissive' thing was only part of it.

Coulson spent another good three hours reading about submissive behavior, expectations of a dominant from a submissive's point of view, care and aftercare for submissives, subspace, subdrop, until, frankly, the prefix 'sub' and the actual word 'submissive' stopped looking like real words. On top of that, his eyesight was starting to blur.

Coulson bookmarked all the links he had been reading and put them in a new folder before turning his laptop off and putting it back in his bag. He laid down in bed, pulling Clint into his embrace and kissing his forehead, running a hand through his hair and shushing him when he stirred, groaning.

The two of them fell asleep, Coulson's mind still whirring with all the information he had gathered, but keeping it in his head until morning.


	3. Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Open discussion and cuddling. Clint being vulnerable around Phil, and trust issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter ending seems a bit abrupt, that's because it is. I didn't write this with the intent of it turning into a chaptered fic, (wooops!), and thus, sort of just kept...going.   
> The thing is, I'm largely flying by the seat of my pants. I normally have a fic either entirely finished or, like, almost finished when I put it up, to prevent abandonment. This...well, I'm not writing it update by update, but it's dangerously close.  
> Problem also is, uh, this wasn't supposed to happen. This is like what happened in AatA times a hundred; plot's going off in a whole new direction than 'stripper fic' and I'm sitting here unsure what the fuck just happened, I'll be honest.  
> When the plot REALLY shifts gears, we're making a new story and making it a bigger universe. But I don't know how or why this even happened. Woops.  
> As for the discussion in this chapter, I tried to keep it legitimate. Honest discussion of kinks with your partner is the right thing to do, kids. Mind you I've never had an in-depth conversation about BDSM with a partner, so this maaay not be perfect, but I tried.  
> Anyways, enjoy! I'll try to keep updates flowing and such.   
> Oh and whoashit, I forgot, but as I was editing I remembered: HOLY TRIGGER WARNING FOR ABUSE IN THIS CHAPTER, BATMAN. Not from Phil obviously but from Barney and it's not actual scenes, but it's discussed, so please skip that section if it bothers you.

Clint awoke the next day to the smell of Coulson buried deep within him and all around him and smiled, content. When he moved and felt hardness brushing against him, his smile grew even wider. 

He didn't wake Phil, though. He still looked tired and Clint wanted to be good. He wouldn't wake him. But he needed a shower.

Clint hesitated for a second. Would it be all right to shower? Phil hadn't really laid out what he was and wasn't permitted to do on his own...so he wouldn't be punished, he figured. Coulson was usually fair about those sort of things. Except for when Clint blew up stuff and it totally wasn't his fault but he had to do all the paperwork anyway.

Clint huffed, but looking down at Coulson and seeing him so vulnerable and at ease, his mouth slightly open and his eyes closed, he forgot why he could have ever been annoyed with someone so perfect.

He leaned down and pressed a delicate kiss to his neck before getting up and going towards their bathroom, his footsteps quiet as he shut the door with a sharp click. He didn't hear Coulson waking up as he undressed, so Clint figured that hadn't been enough to wake him. 

He turned on the shower and stood under the warm spray, looking down at his morning erection. It hadn't gone away, and he didn't know what to do with it. Masturbating was out of the question; even if they hadn't set limits, Clint had never really liked masturbation, never wanted to get off without someone else holding him and telling him it was okay. Fantasies had made it necessary, but now his greatest fantasy was sleeping in the bed they shared, so Clint didn't have to masturbate anymore.

He hummed, pleased, at the thought. Clint soaped up a washcloth and began to scrub himself, still thinking. Maybe if he just went out into their room with an erection and asked for Phil to take care of him...

No, Clint decided, shaking his head and scrubbing down to his feet before washing his hair with the bottles of Phil's conditioner he found on the lip of the tub. He had to deserve it first...but then Phil had to decide what would make him deserve orgasm.

It was really confusing, and Clint hadn't even had his first cup of coffee yet. 

He sighed, finished scrubbing himself clean, and ran a hand through his hair and sniffed it, testing. It smelled like Phil. Not quite, not as rich and deep and true as Phil, but that was good. He wasn't Phil, but he _was_ Phil's, and this...this was sort of like a claim, and it made Clint's cock jump, pulsing with heat as he got out of the shower. He sprayed himself with just a little bit of Phil's cologne before patting himself dry and looking down at the towel.

No, naked was better. He trusted Phil enough to be vulnerable around him, and Phil had to know that.

That meant when Coulson woke up, the sound of an opening door and running water having already semi-roused him, he was greeted with the sight of Clint Barton kneeling at his bedside, completely naked and totally erect.

Coulson wanted to go back to bed. But that was the easy way out, and it would break Clint. He knew this was a sign of how much Clint trusted him, and all the info he'd obtained had said that trust was the number one thing to be maintained in a relationship like this.

But he hadn't even had coffee yet.

Still, he was better than that, and so he simply sat up, threaded his hand through Clint's hair, and murmured, "Good morning, princess. Isn't that hard on your knees?"

"I'm okay, sir," Clint promised, but Coulson noticed him fidgeting. He frowned, and Clint flinched.

"No, ssh...I'm not angry," Phil told him, rubbing lightly behind Clint's ear. "I'm not angry at all. I don't like that you're in pain. You don't have to lie to me if you're uncomfortable, Clint."

"Sorry, sir," Clint whimpered, screwing his eyes shut. No no _no_ this was all bad and wrong, and now he'd _never_ get to come, he'd fucked it up, he was so fucked up...

"Princess, stop," Phil said, his voice a bit firmer. "You're working yourself up, I can see it. I'm not angry, I'm not disappointed, and you're not bad. From now on, we're going to put a pillow or something like that beneath your knees when you kneel, okay? I'm not going to be the one responsible for causing you harm."

"Okay," Clint agreed. "Okay, sorry."

"Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong. Come here," Coulson told him, his voice softening again. "Come up and sit on the bed, princess."

Clint did as he was told, sitting cross-legged on the bed and watching Coulson, his head tilted. Phil got up and leaned in to kiss his forehead. 

"You showered, I take it," he said. Clint nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said. "I, uh...I wasn't sure if I was permitted to do that on my own, though."

"We'll talk about it after breakfast," Coulson promised. "The one thing we need to discuss before we eat is this," he said, brushing his fingers down Clint's chest before lightly skimming his cock. "You woke up like this?"

Clint nodded, shaking. "Yes, sir. I don't know what to do with it, sir. Please, I—no, I mean, I—uhm, I—fuck, shit, I don't know what I'm fucking doing—"

"Clint, relax," Coulson said, pulling him into his arms and hugging him so tight he forgot what he was trying to say. "You're fine. You're fine. We'll talk about this later. Right now I just want to take care of you. Will you let me?"

"Yes, please Phil, please..." Clint begged. Coulson kissed his forehead and nodded, running his hand up and down Clint's erection before cupping his sack, thumbing lightly, gently, at the skin, making Clint shudder and whine softly. Coulson stroked his hair with one hand while he completed him with the other; Clint was shaking, moaning, and finally, coming in hard, hot spurts before he knew what had happened, too wrapped up in the feel of Coulson's lips on his neck and his fingers on his cock.

Coulson let him cool off for a moment and come back down to earth before he let Clint lick his hand clean and kiss his fingertips. He stroked Clint's hair and murmured, "Good boy. You did very well, Clint. That was astounding. How about we have breakfast now?"

"Okay," Clint agreed. "But, uh...sir? I don't think...I mean, I just, uh, I noticed...I haven't made you come yet, sir. I mean, even during the sex we had—"

"Ssh," Coulson hushed him, kissing his forehead. "Don't worry about it. I have something in mind for later. This was just so I could calm you down and we could go eat breakfast. I wasn't expecting you to reciprocate."

"Okay," Clint replied, his bearing a bit more relaxed as he let Coulson help him up, dress him in a shirt and jeans, and put socks on his feet, leading him down the stairs and sitting him at the table while Coulson started up their breakfast. 

Clint sat at the table, tilting his head up when Coulson returned with two plates of bacon and eggs, waffles hissing on the stove behind them.

"Natasha called," he said. "She's heading out to handle Tony. I told her to speak with Pepper, she'd have a grip on things. We've got some time alone to sort this out, Clint."

"Okay," Clint agreed, taking a cup of coffee from Phil as well as his food. "Uh, Phil, do you want to..."

"Would you like me to?" Coulson asked, giving Clint a steady, intense look that had him squirming in his seat.

"Y-yes," he admitted. "If...if we don't have anywhere to be."

"Well, since I was on the mission with you, I can just fill out the paperwork and send it into the filing department without a problem. So, we've got today to ourselves. We're in no rush, darling," Coulson promised. "Hold on."

Clint watched as he finished the waffles, put them on two plates, and then came back in to put them down before getting a throw pillow off the couch. He placed it next to his chair, waiting. Clint whined and sank to his knees in sheer, abject bliss. 

Coulson stroked his hair, letting Clint lay his head on his lap for awhile and relax, every bit of his body slowly sinking down towards the pillow, his knees shaking. Clint finally lifted his head up from Phil's thigh, opening his mouth obediently.

Coulson fed him bites of breakfast, alternating between a bite for himself and a bite for Clint; the other man was delicate with each nibble of food, accepting what Coulson fed him as carefully as he could so as not to nip his fingers or spill it off the fork.

"Good boy," Coulson murmured after Clint had cleaned his plate. "Why don't we sit on the couch for a bit and talk about this, then?"

"Okay," Clint mumbled, "but, uh...not yet? Can we wait a bit?"

"If you're not ready, yes, of course. We'll unwind for awhile first, how about that? I've got some paperwork to finish and authorize anyway. You can turn on the television, get comfortable, and we'll talk when you're ready," Coulson soothed him, stroking his hair. 

Clint nodded, letting Phil help him up and bring him to the living room. For awhile, the two of them simply sat; Clint watched utterly mindless sitcoms and laid his head in Coulson's lap as the other agent played with his hair and signed off on paperwork.

"I guess I just wanna know how okay you are with this," Clint said abruptly. Coulson put his pen down mid-sentence to listen. "I know it's a lot. And I mean, even I'm really confused; I've never done this before, with anyone. Not even Natasha. And...y'know. You're just rolling with it. I don't...wanna force you to do something you're not into, Phil."

"Have I given _any_ indication this bothers me, Clint?" Phil said, giving him a small smile. "You ought to realize that I'm enjoying this as much as you. Yes, I'm a bit confused, but I did some studying last night. So of course I'm trying to handle the situation right—and, most importantly, I certainly don't feel forced. I'm honored, pleased...and, well...incredibly interested."

"In what, sir?" Clint asked, his throat dry. Coulson smiled. 

"In being your dominant," he said, reaching his hand down to trace Clint's back and give his ass a possessive squeeze. "You're not making me do anything I'm not interested in, I assure you of that."

Clint nodded, putting his head in his hands and trying to steady his breathing. It was all too much. Phil _wanted him._ Phil _loved him._ Phil wanted to be his dominant. It was so good, _so_ good, but so _much_...

"Okay," he said. "Okay, that's...good to know. Then...I guess we've got some things to talk about."

"Yes, we do," Coulson agreed. "A great many things, I think, but one at a time. So; what first?"

"Uh," Clint said, immediately flailing; Coulson cupped his cheek and shushed him.

"It's okay. That was thoughtless of me. I'll go first, my love," Coulson promised him. "What do you like doing?"

"In bed or out?" Clint asked. Coulson smiled, stroking his hair. 

"How about both?" He replied. Clint nodded, sinking deep into thought. Coulson went back to his paperwork to allow him time to think.

"Um," Clint finally said after a few moments. "I dunno much. I mean, I like being petted and kissed. An' being babied some, I guess. It's...nice when I don't have to do anything but get taken care of. Never happened before. So...that, yeah. And..."

Clint wrinkled his nose, deep in thought.

"I want to be good," Clint said. "I want to learn how to be good for you, sir. And...I wouldn't mind being punished. Like, um...spankings and stuff."

He was mumbling now, his face red. Coulson cupped his cheek and kissed his forehead, shushing him. 

"Clint, you know I love you," Coulson said. "You don't need to worry about being good for me. I know you are."

"But, I mean—I know, but..." Clint trailed off, flailing his arms aimlessly. "Right, sir, but...I mean..."

"Clint, I think we need to talk about how much of this is because of your issues, rather than your kinks," Coulson told him, keeping his voice gentle. "I'm not going to be angry or disappointed in you, no matter what you tell me. And after that, if you still want to be punished, then we'll talk. Okay?"

Clint looked away, fidgeting with his hands. Coulson cringed; he was losing him, but better to do that than to proceed with all of this and make Clint's issues worse.

"We're not gonna do anything if I don't tell you, huh?" Clint said, his voice dry. Coulson tsked.

"No, we're not; until we can trust each other and know what we both want, I won't be intimate with you in that manner. I'm not asking for it all, Clint; just what's important. Only you can tell me that, though. That means nothing can be solved until you tell me what I'm trying to fix in the first place," Coulson said, stroking Clint's hair. "Take it slow, darling. I'm right here."

Clint was quiet for a long time. Coulson didn't begrudge him the silence; he picked his pen back up and continued to work.

"When I was a kid," he said, and Coulson didn't so much as twitch, letting him pour it out without worrying about his reactions, "Barney was in charge. Mom and dad were drunk or hopeless. It was me an' Barney, and Barney protected me. Usually. But he was daddy, too, and that meant he could do what he wanted, I mean. He punished me when I was bad. I was _always_ bad, Phil. And it _hurt_. I _wanted_ to be good, I _did_ , but..."

"But you could never measure up," Coulson finally said, his voice quiet. "Clint, that was the _point._ He was keeping you manipulated by giving you goals he couldn't possibly expect you to reach, so he had an excuse to punish you. Of _course_ he punished you, Clint. He just wanted to cause you pain."

Clint fidgeted, nodding slowly in agreement.

"Yeah, but he loved me," he mumbled. "He _did_. He bought me juice and made sure I ate dinner most of the time, and he petted my hair."

"Maybe he did love you, Clint. I'm not saying he didn't. I'm saying that has nothing to do with him hurting you," Coulson told him. "He hurt you because he wanted to. It wasn't about discipline or guidance or love or any reason other than sadism. Okay?"

"Okay," Clint murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Coulson replied. "You're not wrong for being abused, Clint. And I'm still not angry."

Clint smiled and nuzzled his neck. Coulson gave him a gentle kiss, stroking his hair.

"Okay, princess," Coulson said. "So that's why you're scared of failing me and why you want my approval. I'm sure there's other reasons...but that seems like a big one, huh?"

"Yeah," Clint mumbled. "Circus stuff, too. I ate if I made money that night. If I was a good boy. I tried, Phil. I got so good. I was never hungry after awhile."

"I bet," Coulson murmured. "You're a wonderful marksman. We both know that. It's all right."

Clint smiled and snuggled into his embrace, closing his eyes and letting himself breathe for awhile. Coulson stroked his hair, until finally, Clint mumbled into his neck, "So what's next?"

"Well, you regress," Coulson said. "I've noticed it already; when we made love, you weren't...well, the you I normally see. You were younger; you were needy, and vulnerable, and these aren't bad things. I know that. I want you to know if you need to regress, it's all right—but I don't think you realize you're doing it, or why. Knowing that will make sure we can handle it properly. So, can we talk about it, Clint?"

"Um," Clint tilted his head, biting at the skin on his lip and slowly worrying it away. "I guess. It's a lot, though."

"Well, give me what you think is the most important. We can learn as we go," Coulson said. 

"Okay," Clint murmured. "Then, uh...well, I guess..."

He shrugged, shaking his head. "I didn't really get to be a kid, that's all. Pop was drunk, mom was useless, Barney basically beat on me to make him feel better 'bout what we were going through, and I joined the circus when I was 'bout thirteen. And then, uh...stuff happened. I didn't get to be a kid there, either."

"What do you mean by being a kid, Clint?" Coulson asked. Clint tilted his head.

"Um, y'know. Getting people to put you in the bath after you've had a whole day outside having fun. Someone putting you to bed at night and telling you a story. Just...being taken care of. Fed and dressed and bathed, and cleaned up and read to. I dunno, like...not having to worry about anything. Someone'll come along and take care of you, and you  can just...be, yeah?" Clint said.

"I think I understand," Coulson agreed. "I wish you didn't need these things because of all you've been through, Clint. I have no problem with giving them to you...but if circumstances were different, I suppose."

"They're not, though," Clint said with a sigh. "It's not too weird, though?"

"Not at all," Coulson replied. "It honestly makes a lot of sense. Your psychological state and well-being are pretty neatly interwoven with your fetishes, I'll be honest."

"Yeah, well," Clint said, his face red, "I'm done with talking 'bout what gets me off. What about you?"

Coulson chuckled, pulling him down for another slow kiss.

"Oh, no dove, we haven't finished yet," he said gently, "but I'll allow you some time before we begin again. That was a lot for you to talk about, and it was very brave of you that you did. I'm proud, Clint, honest. You were a very good boy."

Coulson could see Clint melting, his defenses so easily liquefied by a few kind words and some love. He had never been as harsh as he had affected; simply frightened and desperate.

"You're going to be okay," Phil promised, and seeing Clint relax so immediately gave him hope for what was to come. The trick was handling everything else first, but that would come in due time.


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion. And some other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, there's actually kinky shit in this one!  
> Trigger warning again for, well, more stuff RE: Clint's past. Seriously, skim all that and skip to the porn if it bothers you.  
> Also, I'm sorry this thing is updated once a week; I reiterate, it's not that far ahead in terms of content, therefore writing it and keeping up with it is hard. Plus, it's a porny fic, and I'm not good at those. Much prefer long sprawly plotty epics, in case the 350k fic wasn't a clue.  
> I'll probably make this one a weekly update fic unless I go through a big writing boom; if it helps, this chapter is really long.

Clint was still looking up at him as he stroked his hair, hesitant but eager. "Sir? Is...is it okay if, I mean...I want to know what makes you feel good too, Phil."

"It's okay," he murmured. "Don't be scared. I'll tell you what I like, princess, I promise. How about a snack, first? Are you hungry?"

Clint nodded. Coulson stroked his hair. "All right, then. What would you like?"

"Do we have chips?" Clint asked, looking up at him hesitantly. "Cookies and chips. With juice."

"Clint, I'm still not sure how you keep your figure," Coulson tsked, smiling. "How about just cookies? And milk?"

"But _, juice_ ," Clint said.

"Compelling argument, but I'm not convinced," Coulson replied, ruffling his hair. "Tell you what; cookies and milk today, and if you eat your dinner, chips and juice tomorrow."

This was all Clint had ever wanted, and it was so obvious on his face and in how he moved that Coulson almost felt guilty for not noticing it before. Still, he was doing the best he could at the moment, so he wouldn't complain.

"Okay," Clint mumbled. "What do you want?"

"Ssh, Clint. It's not important. I'll get myself some cookies too; we'll share. You just sit on the couch and watch your show, okay?" Coulson promised. Clint nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Phil? I'm cold..."

"I'll get a blanket while I'm up, princess," Coulson replied, getting out the milk and cookies as he spoke. He poured two glasses that foamed at the top and set out a plate of warm cookies. He went upstairs and took a blanket off their bed, bringing it down and heading back into the living room with the blanket in one hand and the cookies in the other. 

He set the plate down in front of Clint, right on the coffee table, and went to go get the milk, pointedly placing the glass right into Clint's hand. He huffed, but took a big gulp of it as Coulson tucked the blanket around them both.

"Okay," Clint said. "That...thank you, Phil."

"No need, princess. You needed a snack. Eat up, and we'll talk," Coulson promised. "You want to know what I like, right?"

"Yeah, if that's okay," Clint mumbled. "I mean...y'know. If you trust me."

"I trust you as much as you trust me, Clint," Coulson promised. "Clint, you have to remember that. I trust you. I'd trust you with my life."

Clint nodded, letting Coulson give him a quick, soft kiss before they both took a cookie. The two of them nibbled on them before Coulson finally inhaled, thinking.

"I honestly don't know much about this, but from the research I did and my, er...private fantasies, I've put a few things together," he said. Clint nodded, watching with intent curiosity. Coulson felt an odd mixture of arousal and shyness building in his stomach as Clint watched him.

"The idea of dominating you is a turn-on, I'll admit," Coulson admitted, his face turning red. "But I don't much like the idea of sadism. I'd be more than happy to discipline you and dominate you, but some of the things I saw were a bit too violent for my tastes. I worry about you getting caught and tortured too much to find anything similar arousing."

"It's okay," Clint said. "I don't wanna bleed, either. Knives still scare me. When you discipline me, I just want...y'know, like, a spanking, or a time out, or for you to hold off on me before I can come. Nothing heavy, Phil."

"Oh, good," Coulson said with a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry, Clint. I can't hurt you. Even if it's consensual, I just...couldn't."

Clint smiled, nuzzling his neck and cuddling against him. "That's nothin' to apologize for, right?"

"You're right," Phil agreed, kissing his forehead. "On a happier topic...I'd very much like to collar you. I'll buy you something beautiful, something that suits you; I already found a few sites that look interesting. How do you feel about bondage, Clint?"

"Nothing heavy," Clint replied, "but...it'd be nice. It would help me calm down if you were in control. But can we wait a bit on the blindfolds? I'd like to try them, but not yet. Once I get comfortable, can we give them a shot?"

"Oh, of course," Coulson agreed. "A few cuffs and ties it is, then. Nothing major."

Clint nodded, letting Coulson pet him for a few minutes in silence as Phil tried to figure out what else might be important.

"I would like to take care of you, above all else," Coulson told him, his tone shifting from shy and quiet to something warmer, fuller, heavy with love. "I've always wanted to do that; as your handler, as your partner, and as your friend. But now, Clint, I'm your lover and your dominant, and I intend to keep it that way. That means I get to take care of you, and I take that very seriously."

Clint nodded, taking his hand and squeezing it, his fingers trembling. 

"So, uh...what does all that mean, Phil?" He asked. 

"It means I get to make sure you eat right when possible and take care of yourself on missions where it isn't. It means you trust me to make decisions for you, on the field and off, regarding your well-being. It means I get to put you to bed and make sure you've showered and eaten beforehand. It means that I'm the one that gets to make sure you're safe, taken care of, and loved. Is that enough?" Phil explained. 

"Yeah," Clint said. "More than enough, Phil. Thank you, thank you..."

Phil smiled and pulled him close. When Clint nodded, Phil gave him a slow, sweet kiss, slipping his tongue into Clint's mouth and holding him steady, Clint's breath milky and sweet when their tongues met and Clint's lips pressed against his own.

"Good boy," Phil said when the two of them broke away, Clint whimpering a little in protest when they did. "Why don't you finish up your snack and look this paperwork over so we can both sign off on it?"

"What're we gonna do after that?" Clint asked, tilting his head. Coulson kissed his forehead.

"How about a movie? If there's anything else you'd like to talk to me about as well, feel free. I just have one question before we put the movie in, Clint," Coulson said. "You're interested in trying what I specified, yes?"

"Yeah, I...yeah, Phil. It'll take some getting used to, being taken care of...but I've definitely thought of trying all the other stuff before," Clint promised. 

Coulson's heart ached at the thought that, of everything he had specified, the only thing out of place to Clint was being taken care of.

"Okay, princess," he said. "And you're definitely okay with the pet names?"

"Oh, yeah. It...they feel kinda nice, actually. I feel really nice and taken care of and stuff," Clint mumbled, nuzzling shyly into Phil's chest. "What're you going to call me?"

"Oh, it depends on my mood," Coulson said, "but as far as I'm concerned, you're my darling, my princess, my sweetheart, and my little hawk. Does that answer your question?"

Clint laughed, soft and sweet, and let Coulson gather him up into his lap. 

''Yeah, it does," he said. "I love you too, Phil."

Phil kissed his cheek before leaning over to grab the remote. "What do you feel up for watching?"

"Oh, uh...I dunno," Clint said. "I like...I guess we could watch a Disney movie, if that's okay? I've never really seen one..."

"Oh, of course. Anything stand out to you? Besides Robin Hood," Coulson teased. Clint stuck out his tongue.

"Actually, can we watch _Cinderella?_ I know it's a dumb princess movie, but—"

"Of course we can," Coulson said, scrolling through the pay-per-view and selecting the movie. "It's a good movie. Don't be embarrassed, Clint. Want to read your paperwork first, though, so you can focus on the movie? I should go put the sauce on for dinner anyway, it has to simmer."

"Okay," Clint agreed with a yawn, letting Coulson get up and start on the sauce. For awhile, the two worked; Coulson prepared dinner and Clint scribbled his signature and additional input on the case file. 

Thankfully, though, Clint finished up and Coulson left the sauce to simmer soon enough, the two of them meeting once more on the couch to cuddle underneath the blanket. Clint hesitantly put a hand on Coulson's lap; he nodded, helping Clint up enough so he could snuggle comfortably in his lap. He smiled and nuzzled into Coulson's chest, his eyes closed and his breathing relaxed, until the movie started.

Clint kept a watchful eye on the movie the entire time; Coulson knew the movie a bit better, having seen it with his grandmother about a hundred times, (it was her favorite—something he might mention to Clint if he liked it enough), and so he could focus all his attention on Clint.

The archer was more at ease than Coulson had ever seen him in ten years of knowing him, ever since they'd picked him up from the circus. He'd been a tiger then; scrawny, but rough and raw, vicious and sleek beneath the scars on his skin. He still was, beneath Phil's touch, but then again, being a tiger went right down to your bones, and Clint's stripes were scars that ran down to the marrow anyway. He didn't mind that Clint was a tiger. But he was happy that he had tamed him.

Clint watched eagerly the entire time, up until the scene where Cinderella's first dress was savagely ripped apart by her siblings. He whimpered at that, burying his fingers into Coulson's shirt and pushing his face into Phil's chest, his breathing growing heavy and frightened.

"It's okay, Clint," Coulson murmured. "Hey, hey. Don't be scared. She's got a fairy godmother who's coming to make it all better soon. I promise."

"You mean it?" Clint breathed. "Okay. I'm sorry. I just—I mean—"

"Hey, it's okay," Coulson said. "You don't need to talk about it now. Look—her godmother's here, Clint. It's going to be all right."

Clint nodded, fixating his attentions back on the television with a wide-eyed look of concern. Coulson wondered briefly if S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files still had anything on Barney Barton. If they did, Coulson might look into finding him. With a bullet or two.

The relief on Clint's face when Cinderella was granted her dress was almost tangible; when he smiled, he looked seven rather than twenty-seven, and it made Coulson want to cuddle him, fierce and protective. 

Thankfully, he could do that now, and so he did; he held Clint close and tight, stroking his hair as Clint watched the movie.

It was a long time before Clint finally looked up, hesitant, and murmured, "I can't decide on something."

"Oh?" Coulson said as the duke placed the glass slipper on Cinderella's foot. "What's got you thinking, Clint?"

"I can't decide whether you're my fairy godmother or my prince," Clint said with a soft yawn as the credits rolled. "I mean, the fairy godmother and the prince both helped Cinderella get the hell out from that crappy home...but I mean, you fixed me up when I was broken, like she did...but you loved me, too."

"I can be both," Coulson replied, playing with his hair. "For you, I'll be both."

"You're okay with being a fairy prince?" Clint teased. Coulson snorted, pulling Clint into his arms and giving him a few soft, sweet kisses across his cheeks. 

"For you, yes. If I must," he said. "Magic would make my job easier, that's for sure."

"Thanks," Clint murmured. "I mean, uh. For doing things for me."

"Everything I do I do with you in mind, darling," Coulson said, his voice warm as he kissed Clint's forehead. "Do you realize how long I've waited to be with you?"

"Uh," Clint fumbled, hesitant. "Awhile?"

"Since I met you," Coulson told him. "You were a lot fiercer then, a lot more feral and violent. You had a lot more to handle and a lot less coping skills. But I still knew you were someone good, someone who could be saved—someone who _needed_ to be saved. But you were seventeen, and I was twenty-five; I felt, well...awkward," Phil confessed.

"I don't mind that you're older, sir," Clint murmured. "I like it, really. I feel...more protected. You always act older, anyway."

"I _have_ to, you all drive me up a wall," Coulson said, amused. "It's all right. I like it too. I like knowing I'm in charge of protecting you."

"Is _that_ why you wanted to be my handler?" Clint asked, curious. Coulson smiled and stroked his hair.

"I've never told you? Well, yes...that and my little admitted crush on you. Plus, you liked me. I knew even then that I was being treated to a side of Clint that no one else got to see. Not even Natasha. And that was...a great feeling, honestly. Keeping you in my life was the obvious choice; only you made me feel that way," Coulson explained. "So I signed on as  your handler and took care of Natasha, too. It was a wonderful choice. Working with the other Avengers in that capacity should prove to be more of the same."

"Even if Tony joins?" Clint asked with a tiny giggle.

 _"Especially_ if Tony joins," Coulson said, sighing, "but I won't like it. He needs it more than he thinks, though, so I suppose I've got no choice..."

Clint grinned and nodded, letting Phil pet his hair.

"We've got time for another movie before dinner's ready," he said. "Any suggestions?"

"Um...dunno," Clint mumbled. "Sorry."

"I've got one, then," Coulson said. "The title sounds a bit silly, but you'll like it; _The Princess Bride_ is a wonderful movie."

Clint nodded, letting Coulson get up to put it in. While he was up and about, he checked on the sauce and took out pasta. Clint cuddled under the blanket, waiting for him with a small smile on his face.

A movie and dinner.

"Our first date," he said, and Coulson jumped. The realization hit him all at once, and he smiled.

"Yes," he agreed, "I suppose it is. I couldn't ask for anything better, Clint."

"Me neither," Clint replied, settling in and grinning, content.

They got about ten minutes into the movie before the pasta was ready to boil; Coulson got up and prepared it before coming back to Clint, who had paused the movie for him.

"Oh, thank you," Phil said. "I didn't think to do that, actually. You didn't have to; I've seen this plenty of times."

"Yes, but I wanted to," Clint replied. "So no worries, okay? Let me take care of you too!"

"Okay, okay," Phil said, ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead as he turned the movie back on. "Don't worry about pausing it when I go finish up dinner; it'll take too long. I promise, I can recite the entire movie if you want."

"With impressions?" Clint asked, giving him a big grin. Coulson snorted.

"Probably. Except of Buttercup. My voice is...a bit too deep, I'd like to think," he said. Clint laughed, nuzzling his neck as they watched the movie, Clint wriggling his toes under the blankets and kissing Coulson on occasion. 

Eventually, the timer dinged; Couson got up and tossed the pasta, mixing it with the sauce and piling two plates full before he came back out to Clint with an apologetic smile.

"Honestly, I can cook more than this, but it's quick and easy, and you needed me more than you needed any variety in dinner," Coulson apologized. "How does chicken pot pie sound for tomorrow?"

"Fine by me," Clint said. "Never had it. Can I help in the kitchen?"

"If you'd like," Coulson promised, his voice warm. "I'd like that a lot."

They ate and watched television, Clint's eyes drooping shut every so often as Coulson played with hs hair. He was fixated solely on the movie, and almost missed a few bites, in fact, on the way to his mouth. Coulson laughed when he did, then fed him the bite to show him it was fine.

Eventually, the movie ended, and Clint looked out at the dark sky.

"I don't have to go to bed yet, do I?" Clint asked, tilting his head. Phil shook his head.

"No, no; bedtime's at ten tonight. That sound fair?" He asked. Clint wrinkled his nose.

"Ugh, that's so early," he said. "C'mon, Phil..."

"You need your sleep," Coulson replied. "We're going to be assigned to another mission soon, I'm sure of it; I want you well-rested for the mission. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir..." Clint said, heaving a dramatic sigh. Coulson kissed his forehead.

"Don't pout, love. It's okay. I'll tuck you in," he promised. "Fair?"

"'Kay," Clint agreed, though he still looked less than pleased. Coulson sighed. Oh, yes. Clint had to get used to the idea of being cared for, and he would have to teach him soon. Hopefully bed tonight might help.

"Do you want another movie? Or would you like to do something else?" Phil asked. Clint tilted his head.

"Um, we don't have a lot of other things to do..." He frowned, considering. "Can you tell me stories?"

"Oh, of course," Coulson agreed. "Of what?"

"I dunno," Clint replied with a yawn, "anything. Captain America. Your gran. I just...I dunno, I've been your partner for so long, but I still got a lot to learn."

"And I could say the same for you," Coulson murmured, "but don't worry. We've both got plenty of time to learn, I think."

Clint nodded in agreement, and gave him a hesitant smile. "You first, though? I mean, my stories aren't much fun."

"All right," Phil agreed. "Now, where do I start..."

He didn't really pick a starting-off point, when he realized how he had begun; it all just sort of spilled out. Clint listened without judgement, the jumbled mess of story seemingly leaving him unperturbed. Perhaps he enjoyed seeing the normally unflappable agent trying to piece things together.

In any case, Coulson told him everything--at least, everything he could tell him in an hour or so. The truth was, Clint had been a part of his life for long enough that there was plenty he already knew. As Coulson combed over his memories and realized that, he decided with a small smile that he was more than all right with that.

When he finally finished, simply out of anything interesting to tell, he murmured, "I know it doesn't seem like much. But, I mean...I was happy. That's more than a lot of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives can say, and I'm grateful I got it. If not, I probably wouldn't be as good at helping the ones that didn't. I had a grandmother, and an apartment, and a childhood; more than enough."

"And Captain America," Clint said, amused. "Did they really have conventions?"

"And Captain America," Coulson added with a faint blush. "And yes, they did. If we do manage to de-frost him, I'd rather you didn't mention I attended."

"Cross my heart," Clint said, giving him a grin. Coulson kissed his forehead.

"What about you, Clint?" He murmured. "Tell me what you're ready for. I won't ask for anything more."

"Doesn't my file go into all this crap? You don't need to hear it again," Clint said with a huff, shivering and looking away. Coulson just raised an eyebrow.

"You're really going to try that tactic on me?" He said.

Clint flinched, ducking his head. Coulson just frowned and waited. He hadn't seen that level of defensiveness from Clint in a long time. He didn't like it, but he had time. And he was more than capable of handling and dealing with it.

"It's dumb," Clint finally said. "None of it's happy. It just makes me sound whiny and stupid. I don't want to."

"Why? Because you're afraid that I'll think you're whining, or lying? Clint," Coulson murmured, "I was under the impression you trusted me."

"With...with my life, sir. I mean it, I do. But this—I don't wanna talk about it. It's not about trust. It's just dumb," Clint said, edging away from him. Coulson took his wrist, keeping him where he was and giving him a stern look.

"It _is_ about trust, Clint," he replied. "If you don't trust that I won't think less of you for being vulnerable, I can't be a very good dominant, now can I?"

"No, sir," Clint said, and his voice sounded so terribly weak. All Phil wanted to do was pick him up and cuddle him, hold him against his chest and gentle him. That had to come later, though; after they'd gotten all this out together.

"Trust me, then," Coulson told him. "You need to trust me with both the big things, which I know you do, and the little ones. The little ones are just as important, Clint. They're still a part of you, so they're still important to me. If you can't trust me when you don't trust yourself, there's no point in this."

Something broke in Clint at that, and he buried himself in Coulson's chest, clinging to him tight and beginning to whimper, broken little keening noises that shoved a knife of guilt right into Phil's heart, rending it in two.

"Please don't leave," Clint begged, "oh, please, god, I'm sorry, I won't, I'm sorry, please stop, you're _scaring me_ , I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_..."

"Oh, love," Phil murmured, stroking his hair. "I'm not leaving. You need to trust that, too. I'm not going to leave over a little thing like this. This is just working out some rough spots in our relationship. Better to do it now than later, yes?"

"Okay," Clint said, his voice breaking. "Okay. I'm sorry. I was so bad. Please. Please, I'm sorry. I'll be good."

"Clint, what would that mean in a scenario like this?" Coulson asked, tilting his chin up. "I know you want to be good, baby. I know you can be. So tell me what you'd do."

"I'd, uh, tell you, sir," Clint explained, "tell you what you wanna know."

"Not necessarily," Coulson corrected him, keeping his voice gentle. "You tell me what you're capable of telling me, okay? Just that, and nothing more. It's all I want."

"Okay," Clint agreed, a shuddering gasp punctuating his words, like a needle through worn cloth. "Okay. Okay, sir. Please, sir. I'm scared. I do trust you. I don't know why this is so goddamn _hard_."

"Because you've always _known_ you trusted me, Clint," Coulson explained patiently, "but putting it into practice is harder than you think. I'm not angry. I know you trust me. Putting it into practice is going to be hard for awhile, but it will get easier. I know it."

Clint just nodded, fisting his hands into Coulson's jacket for awhile. They sat in silence for a little while.

Then, in halting, hesitant tones, Clint began to speak. 

He told him about the homes he'd grown up in; a race to get away from landlords eager to evict them, all the times he had slept in the car and woken up sore, soaked in a spilled bottle of liquor. He explained in slow, shaking words the things he had been told to say to the social workers who, on occasion, managed to catch them in between the constant string of running, running, fighting, and hiding that had been Clint's childhood. 

No wonder he had wanted to be a hawk, Coulson mused silently, scratching lightly at Clint's scalp as he continued to talk. He'd spent his whole childhood being a rabbit.

Clint nuzzled him, shaking and out of breath. He looked more like they'd just come home from the middle of the Congo than told a few stories.

"Please," he said, "I don't wanna talk about Barney. I _can't._ Please."

"It's okay, Clint," Phil murmured. "You've done enough. You've done more than enough, my love. You did beautifully."

"I messed up," Clint whimpered, "I wouldn't tell you. It took me forever to say anything. S'my fault. All my fault. Please, sir."

Coulson wiped at his eyes; they were wet and red-rimmed, but even at his worst, Clint fought like cornered prey not to cry.

"It's okay," Phil murmured. "You're all right."

He kissed his forehead before tilting Clint's chin up so their eyes could meet.

"Do you need to be told what you did wrong?" He asked. Clint shivered.

"No, sir," he said. "I understand. I need to trust you, sir."

"Yes, you do, little hawk. I know it's hard making the jump from knowing you trust someone to believing you do, but I believe wholeheartedly that you can do it," Coulson murmured. "With a bit of help, of course."

"Oh, I..." Clint swallowed. "I will, sir. Promise, sir."

"Are you ready for this, then?" Coulson asked, keeping his tone soft. "I understand if you're not, Clint."

"Please, sir," he said, "I'm ready. Really, honest. I want to do better. I want to be good."

"And you are, Clint," Coulson said, gentle. "Making a mistake doesn't make you bad. It means you need to learn something. What do you need to learn?"

"To, uh, to trust you," Clint replied. "To know I can trust you even with the small stuff. And that the small stuff matters to you, too."

"Good," Phil said, pleased. "I know you trust me. But now you have to make me believe it, princess."

"I will, sir," Clint promised. "I promise, I will."

"I know you will," Phil replied. "I have complete faith in you."

Clint nuzzled him, closing his eyes.

"I want help," he asked. "Please, sir. I want...I want you to help me. I can't do it on my own."

"I know, love, I know," Coulson said. "That would defeat the point of learning to trust someone if you did it without their help, yes?"

Clint nodded. Coulson just gave him a quick kiss, stroking his hair.

"Only ten," he said. "You realized your mistake and you know what you need to do to correct it. This is just a reminder, Clint. And if it really scares you, or hurts you, there's always your safeword. Understood?"

"Okay," Clint said, his voice shaking. "I want it, Phil. Please."

Coulson nodded, undoing his jeans carefully and edging them down. Clint was throbbing already, his bulge prominent against his briefs as Coulson pulled him down onto his lap, where his erection dug insistently into his thigh. Clint whimpered when Coulson pulled down his briefs, lightly stroking the contours of his ass.

"How about we make an agreement, then," Phil said. "You're still learning, still adjusting, and so am I. And you were a good boy in the end. So it's only going to be a spanking, and not a very long one. But from now on, you're going to be punished as I see fit so you know what you did wrong and you can fix it. I hope, Clint, you know I have your best interests at heart, and can learn to trust that I won't go too far in my discipline--otherwise, we won't do anything at all. Fair?"

"Okay," Clint agreed. "And...I mean, um."

"And you'll still be a good boy when it's all over," Coulson promised, kissing both his cheeks and his forehead. "Don't worry about that. Discipline is going to be about learning, not punishment. I don't want to hurt you. Understood?"

"Okay," Clint murmured, his entire body sagging with relief. Once he had no more burdens he needed to hold up, it was like he didn't know what to do but crumble, no longer obligated to hold up the weight of the world. "Thank you, Phil. I want this. I love you so much."

"I love you too, Clint," Coulson said, running his fingers lightly over Clint's ass before raising his hand up and bringing it down with a sharp smack.

Clint's entire body tensed up for a second, and his hands dug into the fabric of the couch as he screwed his eyes shut. Phil made sure he hadn't really hurt him, lightly testing the area of his skin that had gone pink, before rubbing his back gently and doing it again.

The second smack against his skin broke the tension; it was like the snap of a cable, rather than the slow loosening undoing of a knot. Clint melted, his jaw slack, his eyes closed without tension, and his hands laid over the fabric of the couch, no longer practically ripping holes in the fabric.

The third, fourth, and fifth smacks were in quick sucession; after that, Coulson checked to make sure Clint was all right. The other man was still completely loose, lost entirely in subspace; Coulson ruffled his hair lightly to let him know he was still there for him. Clint moaned once, soft, and then fell silent again.

Phil didn't expect to love the way Clint's ass looked after a spanking, but the bright pink of his skin made him shiver with pleasure. It was just enough to remind Clint to be good without causing him pain. It was, in short, perfect.

Coulson gave him four more sharp smacks across both cheeks, making Clint whimper once, but otherwise not eliciting a response from the archer. For his last one, however, Phil hesitated.

"Do you understand what you did, Clint? And you know how you can fix it?" He asked.

Clint whimpered at the lack of Phil's hand on his bare bottom, but he knew better than to protest. 

"Yes, sir," he said. "I'm gonna try harder to trust you, Phil. I promise."

"I know you will. I'll be there to help you," Phil replied. "Do you know that you're still a good boy, and I'm not going to be angry with you for making mistakes?"

"I know, sir," Clint replied with a hazy smile. "Thank you, sir."

"Okay, Clint," Coulson murmured, lightly skirting his fingers over the bright pink marks on Clint's ass, pressing down a bit as he smiled. "One last question."

"S-shoot, sir," Clint stuttered, feeling Coulson's touch more intensely than he had thought possible.

Coulson smiled and kissed the top of his head, running a hand down his spine before lightly cupping his ass.

"Do you know you're the most wonderful, precious, good little boy I could've ever asked for?" He asked.

Clint giggled a bit, a light little laugh that trailed off into a moan when Phil's fingers pressed down again.

"Y-yes, sir," he said. "I'm yours, sir. I...I'm your good boy, sir. I am."

"Yes, you are, Clint," Coulson said, his voice soft and fond and full of love. "One more, now. Hold still."

He gave him one last, echoing smack, the sound resonating through the entire room and making Clint yelp, more out of shock than anything. 

For a minute, the two of them sat there, their breathing heavy and steady. Coulson ruffled Clint's hair and murmured, "You can get up now."

It broke the spell; Clint stretched out and gave him one of his usual cocky grins, getting up and pulling his briefs and pants on. Coulson beckoned to him when he had dressed himself again, letting Clint sit on his lap.

"Do you feel better, Clint?" Coulson asked. "You feel like a good boy again now, don't you?"

"Yeah, sir," Clint promised with a smile. "I do, sir. Thank you. It felt really, really good, Phil."

"Love you too, Clint," Phil replied. "I'm glad it felt good. Maybe we should get to bed now, though. I'm going to tuck you in and make sure you're feeling okay after all that, so we can get a good night's sleep. How's that sound?"

"Good," Clint agreed, a yawn marring his lips before he rubbed at his eyes. "I'm good."

"Yes, you are," Coulson promised, wrapping him up in the blanket and stroking his hair. "Ready to go?"

Clint nodded, following Coulson upstairs. They passed by his old bedroom; Clint felt a little giddy thrill in his stomach that he was going to be sleeping with Coulson now, and it tangled up his insides in a way he couldn't explain. 

Phil opened the door to their bedroom and pulled back the blankets, letting Clint neatly settle the one he had brought upstairs on top of the bed. Phil dressed for bed before laying out a pair of pajamas for Clint, curious. 

As if he had made a silent command, Clint dropped his pants and took off his shirt, dressing immediately in what Phil had picked for him. Phil raised an eyebrow, interested.

"You may wear what you like, you know," he said. "I never negotiated ordering you what to wear."

"Yeah, I know," Clint replied, "and for, like, uniforms and work clothes and stuff like that, it's okay. I'll wear whatever, long as it's clean. But pajamas are kinda different. I like when you pick them out. Promise."

"All right, then," Phil agreed. "Fair enough. Are you ready for bed, Clint?"

"Yes, sir," Clint said, turning back to him. Coulson smiled, cupping his cheek and taking his hand, leading him to bed and giving him a long, sweet kiss, tongues and lips lazily smushing against one another in uncoordinated affection as Coulson lowered him into bed.

Clint snuggled up beneath the covers, pliant and quiet, as Phil tugged the blankets up around him. The archer peeked out from beneath the covers at him with a huge grin. 

"You look ridiculous," Phil said with a grin. "Like a down comforter caterpillar."

Clint growled playfully and nuzzled at his thigh when he got into bed; Phil laughed and stroked his hair, leaning down to kiss him.

"Go to sleep, Clint," he said. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Clint beamed, pleased, and closed his eyes, snuggling up against Coulson. Phil stroked his hair and gave him a kiss.

"I'm very proud of you, Clint," he murmured. "You behaved wonderfully today. This is what all our days off together are going to be like from now on, understand? When we're on missions...we'll make this work. But when we have time like this, we're going to do things just like we did today. Okay?"

"Okay," Clint whispered in agreement. "But, sir...I get to make you come next time?"

"Really, Clint, I'm fine," Coulson said. "This is about taking care of you. I'm fine with waiting. Taking care of you is all the fulfillment I need. We'll worry about sex tomorrow. That's not my main concern."

"Okay," Clint said, soothed. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Don't worry. It's what I'm here for," Coulson promised, keeping his voice soft. "Get some rest now, Clint. I'll be here in the morning."

Clint nodded, closing his eyes and yawning, content. Coulson drifted off to sleep, his concerns for the other man at ease; seeing his dominant falling asleep made Clint curl close and drift off as well, feeling safe and sound in his arms.

For the first time in a long time, longer than he would care to admit, Clint did not have nightmares. There was no need. Coulson would be there when he woke up.


	5. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Clint have a bit of time together before a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies about the length; it's a transitional chapter again. Though I hope the porn makes up for it. Getting into the habit of just writing this stuff at this point; it's becoming much less of an 'eh only if I'm on the mood' thing. Probably 'cause now it semi serves a purpose.  
> Semi.  
> Also, Esperanto is a real language! If you've ever seen Midnight Express, (which may not be the full title, woops; the Japanese movie about cats and a magic train), it's based on a real novel, which was sadly not about anthropomorphic cats, but the author spoke Esperanto, and as tribute, all the signs in the movie are written in it. It's one of those languages that people don't hear about a lot, so enjoy the random factoid!   
> Anyways! Hope you enjoy. ^u^

And he was. Just, not for long.

Clint awoke to a muttered phone conversation and a few creative swears in Esperanto. 

He was used to that, though, so he waited patiently for Phil to hang up and explain. 

It took him a few more minutes of angry mutters, but finally, Clint opened his eyes to see Phil sitting beside him in bed, a frown marring his features as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I have a mission, baby," he said. "I need to go deal with Tony."

"Wait, what? Really?" Clint said, sitting up. Phil nodded.

"I'm afraid so," he said. "Tony's...in a bad way. Like, an 'almost dying' kind of bad way. He needs me. The idiot's almost gotten himself killed about six times in the past two weeks, and Natasha's not enough to keep him contained while he tries to cure himself. I'm going to go keep an eye on him...and you're going down to Puente Antiguo."

"What, that little town 'bout an hour away? What the hell for?" Clint asked. Phil sighed.

"Unidentified alien artifact. For whatever reason, there's a giant hammer there that none of the agents can lift, and Fury knows there's something more to it. He wants you to go ahead now; I'll be joining you later, when I've sorted out Tony's mess," Phil explained.

It all clicked for Clint, and he fisted his hands in the sheets, ignoring how they shook. He knew this wasn't Phil's fault, or his. Still, guilt swelled up in his chest, pulsing and tight, eager to poison his thoughts. If he'd been better, then maybe...somehow, maybe, this wouldn't have happened. If he'd just been better on his last mission, they would've let him stay with Phil...

"So, we gotta split up," he said. "I mean, I knew we were gonna have to eventually."

"I'm afraid so," Coulson murmured. "It hurts to lose you, Clint. I promise, as much pain as you're in, I'm feeling the same."

Clint nodded, burying his face into Phil's chest. Coulson stroked his hair, giving the top of his head a soft kiss.

"You'll be back soon, though," Clint said. "And I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I'm the best there is. I can handle it. I mean it."

"Oh, love, I know you can," Phil replied, stroking his hair. "If you need me, you'll call though, right?"

"Right," Clint promised, tension seeping from his body. Even if they weren't together, Phil would protect him. Phil would make sure he did better on this mission, so they could be together for the next one. He gave his lover a smile. "I won't, though. I'm gonna be fine. You call me if you need me, okay?"

"Okay," Coulson agreed with a grin in reply. "I trust you, Clint."

"How long do we have until we go?" Clint asked. Phil checked the clock and sighed.

"I have to fly out to Malibu, but that's not far. You're only an hour's drive, so we do have a little bit of time," Phil said. "How about we eat some breakfast and shower?"

"Can we shower together, sir?" Clint asked. "There's something I wanna do."

Phil caught the look in his eyes and nodded.

"Breakfast first, then," he said. Clint nodded in agreement, the two of them getting up, taking their work clothes out for later, and then heading downstairs.

They ate quickly; there was no time for play or feeding, which made Clint frown a bit, but Coulson's waffles were good enough to stifle any complaints. Besides, he had the shower waiting for him, and so he wolfed the food down as quickly as Coulson would let him before the two went back upstairs and into the bathroom. Coulson was more focused on the task at hand than Clint, for the moment, which gave the archer a second to snag what he needed out of the bedside dresser.

Clint let Phil strip him before he started the shower, undressing on his own as he let Clint go in first. Clint let the water run over him with a content sigh before he looked at Phil.

"I haven't made you come, sir," he said. "Not once. And I _want to_. So even if you're not doing it because it's about what _I_ want or whatever, I want you to come in me, Phil. Please."

"Oh _, god_ ," Coulson said with a groan. "Clint, we don't have time, there's _so much_ I want to do with you, it isn't—"

"Missions are different, right, sir?" Clint cut in. "You said so yourself. We gotta make this work all the time, Phil. I can't only be your sub on the days we have off. That doesn't give me a lot of time. And I want you to be my dom no matter what, even when we're gonna be separated, and even when we're in kind of a hurry, and even when I know we've got other stuff to do. Because this is _important,_ Phil. It really is. I mean, to me it is. It's a big deal for you too, right?"

"Yeah, Clint," Coulson said, his whole body relaxing as he entered the shower and gave Clint a quick kiss. "Yeah, it is. Now come here, princess."

Clint grinned as he proffered the bottle of lube to Phil; he rolled his eyes but murmured, "Good job planning ahead," as he uncapped the bottle and poured it out over one hand.

With his other hand, he grabbed the shampoo, uncapping it with his thumb; he poured it over Clint's head and dropped the bottle, scrubbing lightly at Clint's hair and washing him clean with one hand as his fingers stretched him out, slow and easy with the other.

Clint shuddered and moaned, grinning as Phil's fingers rubbed at his insides and lube slipped down his thighs. He grabbed another shampoo bottle with his shaking hands, and as Phil supported him up against the shower wall, he washed the other man's hair, careful and attentive with his fingers.

"Good boy," Phil murmured, letting the shampoo wash out. "Are you ready?"

"Few more minutes, sir," Clint asked. "If that's okay, I mean. You're kinda big, is all."

Phil's face flushed and Clint laughed despite himself, giving Phil a quick kiss. Phil kissed him back, continuing to stretch Clint out as he had asked.

"I never met someone who blushed when I told them they had a big dick," Clint said, amused. "I like it, sir. I like it a lot. Why do you think I want you to come in me, sir?"

"Clint, Jesus _Christ,_ " Phil said with a groan. "D-don't make me spank you."

"You're bluffing, we don't have the time," Clint teased, lifting his legs up and hooking them around Phil's waist. "Besides, you _like_ this. I'm being good."

"Yes, you are," he agreed, removing his fingers from Clint's tight hole. He enjoyed his little desperate whimper more than he should have. "No, Clint. No discipline. You're being a  good boy. But you're a little tease, you know that?"

"A little tease for a big dick seems like a fair trade," Clint murmured, and Coulson's vision went dizzy from all the blood that was hurtling through his veins and towards his cock.  "C'mon, Phil, I want to make you _come,_ I wanna be _good_ , I _want it,_ please..."

"Begging and pleading will get you _everywhere_ , princess," Phil murmured in his ear, before lining up his cock with Clint's entrance and thrusting in, one smooth stroke that thrust Clint up against the shower wall.

"Oh, oh god," Clint whimpered. _"Big_ , you're so— _please_ , Phil, oh _god—_ "

"Hush, princess," Phil said, "I'm not done, you're not clean..."

"Oh my fucking _god_ ," Clint cried, a half-sob that was mixed with a laugh, "you're _kidding me,_ Phil."

"I most certainly am not. You need to be clean," he said firmly. "We're going on a mission, and I want you to have a shower."

Clint just nodded, letting Phil scrub conditioner through his hair and stroke soap over his arms and chest as he thrust into him, cleaning him up with one hand and holding his hips with the other.

"Y'know, when I get come all over me, s'gonna be a waste," Clint murmured, yipping with shock as Coulson's cock brushed against his prostate. Phil angled his thrusts to hit it again, still holding onto his hip, and kissed his cheek.

"I'll just clean you again," he promised. "But we might not have time for all that fuss, so we ought to hurry..."

He began to stroke Clint's cock, his hand wet with soap and water as Clint whimpered and thrust his hips down against Phil's cock, eager to make him come. 

The two of them stood entwined in the shower, stealing every moment they possibly could, but they had been on plenty of missions before, and they knew it couldn't last. Phil's thrusts were fierce, sharp things, eager to wrench an orgasm from them both before they had to leave. Clint's hand joined Phil's as the two of them stroked at his cock.

Finally, with a soft, keening cry of Phil's name, Clint emptied himself over them both, splattering come all over his chest and on his chin as Phil held him steady. The tight spasms of Clint's body were making him shake, and he felt the tight, hot knot of arousal in his groin and stomach split.

When he came, it wasn't simply because of the tensing, or the sweet hot clench of Clint's muscle around him; the tipping point was when Clint buried his face in his neck and kissed it, murmuring, "I need you, sir."

Phil couldn't disobey his submissive when that was what he asked for; he gave himself freely, orgasming in a white-hot burst, like a star coming undone as he spurted come into Clint for what felt like forever, an apology for all the times he hadn't done this before. Clint moaned and sobbed in dry, heaving gasps, pleading for Coulson's come, so eager for all of it that he whined when Phil pulled away, grasping at his cock.

"When we have more time, Clint," Phil promised, grabbing a washcloth and wiping at his ass and thighs, washing it clean before cleaning off his chest. "I'm going to come in you until you feel full and sore with everything I have to give."

Clint whimpered in anticipation. Phil smiled, kissing and nipping at his neck.

"I promise, you'll go to work one day with a plug inside you, holding all of my come in, and you'll feel hollowed out and full up where I came inside you and made you mine," Phil told him. " _That's_ what the wait is for; I want you begging for my come. I want you _desperate_ for me, and when I give it to you, you're going to take it _properly_. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, sir, oh _god_ ," Clint groaned, shaking as Phil helped him down and finished washing him clean, helping him out of the shower and toweling him off as he ran a comb through the other man's hair before styling his own. Clint was still shaking as Phil brought him back into the bedroom, looking up at him pleadingly.

Coulson kissed his forehead and dressed him, as that look had begged him to do; he helped the other man into his uniform, buckling and belting and zipping up what he could as Clint grabbed his bow and quiver.

Phil put on his suit and adjusted his sunglasses, packing what they both needed before handing Clint his duffel bag. Clint gave him a kiss in thanks, taking his hand and squeezing.

When he went to pull away, Coulson's grip held him fast; the two of them looked at each other and Phil smiled.

"We've only got so much time together," he said. "I don't want to let go."

"Me neither," Clint agreed.

The two walked out to the car, hand in hand. For as long as it was possible—and in truth, they did not leave one another until Coulson got on the plane to Malibu, an hour later—they held hands, memorizing the feel of one another until they could relearn it all over again.


	6. Fanboy Jam Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Tony talk. More like gushing, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an interim chapter to set up the semi-plot that comes after all this; basically, the Avengers getting together with a focus on the conveniently common dom/sub kink.  
> Honestly, the next part of this story won't have any sort of overarching plot; more of a relationship study than anything. This is good, because the story ends when I stop having things to explore; this is bad, because oh shit I'm flying by the seat of my pants when it comes to writing this thing.  
> The first part of this will end in another chapter or two; after that, it's onto the next story. If you can tell what the next main pairing will be, uh, congrats; you've read literally everything else I've ever written. <3  
> And yeah, I fiddled with IM2 some to give Tony and Phil more bonding, because they're such a rad brotp.

Coulson sighed and gave Tony a stern look as he fiddled with his machinery, typing equations into the computer and ignoring him. He knew that sort of dutiful ignorance; it said that Tony knew full well what he'd done wrong and just wanted to ignore it.

"So, you haven't been doing so well since I saw you last," Phil said, and Tony flinched. He felt guilty for ravaging the man's expression further, but if he played his cards right, he'd do more good than he would harm.

"I'm dying, in case you didn't notice," he retorted. "Which means I'd appreciate it if you let me work."

"You work and talk all the time, Tony. Don't lie to me, I've seen you have full-scale fights with Pepper and keep repairing your cars or updating JARVIS. Remember the milkshake?" He said, softening his tone and making it fonder, gentler. It worked; Tony relaxed and grinned.

"Yeah, I do," he said. "S'not my fault I mixed 'em up."

"I don't think she would've minded so much if you hadn't thrown it out afterwards. That was her last protein shake, Tony," Coulson said. Tony laughed.

"Yeah, but I bought her another fifteen crates, so she has no room to complain," he said with a soft grin. "I hope they last. I don't...I don't think I'll be around to buy her anymore. Not that she'd care now. I'm pretty sure she hates me."

"I'm absolutely sure you'll be just fine," Phil said, getting up and putting a hand on Tony's shoulder as the other man frowned and bit his lip. "You're better than that. And so is Pepper. She could never hate you, Tony."

"Yeah, well...I dunno," he said. "Ever the optimist, aren't we?"

"It's not obvious from my appearance, I'm aware, but trust me. I've seen worse cases than you turn out just fine. You're about an average Tuesday on my spectrum of catastrophes," Phil said. It made something in Tony relax, and he smiled.

"I guess that's why they sent you to come bitch at me while I work," he said. "I'm glad they did."

"Me too," Phil said, sitting atop an empty crate labeled 'TUBING' in bold black letters. "So, mind telling me what this is all about?"

"Trying to set up a better system for the power...if I can just get it stronger, I might be able to...I don't even know. Synthesize something? Christ, Phil, I'm _tired_ and my whole body _hurts_ , and I just—I mean—"

"Then take a break," Phil said, meeting his gaze when it flickered over to him. The other man looked wary, hunted. It broke his heart and spurred him on. "Just go watch those old film reels. Think of it as a birthday gift from your dad a few years late."

"He never got me anything anyway," Tony murmured. "It's fine. I..."

"You need a break," Phil said, and for a second he felt like he was speaking to Clint again, another stubborn man standing him down and daring him to push back, to punish him and find fault in him. "You just need some rest. I'll make dinner, you watch your movie. Fair trade?"

Tony fidgeted, hesitated. "Dunno," he mumbled. "Maybe."

"Please," Phil said, keeping his voice gentle. He'd been trying to make this work for the past week, and nothing had gotten through...but the way Tony looked to the side, shuffled his feet and tried to ignore him as he fiddled with his hands gave Phil hope. "Tony, come on. Listen to me just this once."

"I was listening before," Tony defended himself hastily. "Really, I was!"

"Okay, maybe you were. I believe you. Now act like it," Phil said. "You've been learning. That's all well and good, but I need you to act on your knowledge, Tony. Take a break."

After a moment's pause, Tony nodded. All the fight left him, and he slumped his shoulders.

"Phil?" He said quietly. "Please, I don't wanna die."

"You're not going to," Phil replied, getting up and giving him a tight hug. Tony stiffened, too unused to the contact to do anything but tense. Phil let him go and let him adjust; the bafflement the other man regarded him with made him wince.

"I mean it, Tony," he repeated. "You're not going to die. If I have to perform open-heart surgery on you myself, I will. But you aren't going to be working half as well if you don't take a break."

Tony sighed and nodded, letting Phil lead him upstairs and settle him in on the couch, turning on the projector. Phil watched him; hunched over, clutching a pillow, and regarding the screen the way a wary rabbit regarded a fox. 

He didn't know what to do for him; at least, not on his own. There were certain things Tony needed that he couldn't provide for him. But he would keep them in the back of his mind; if Tony found someone he trusted, he'd let them know.

Phil just got him a blanket, covered him up with it, and went to make dinner, two floors above him as Howard's words played back to Tony, nursing an idea in his head.

...

When he came back downstairs with dinner, Tony was asleep. Phil sighed and tsked, tucking him in a bit better on the couch. No sense trying to move him, he'd just wake up and demand to go back into the lab. He would let him lie down here, so long as he made sure he had a pillow.

Phil tugged the blanket up around him and laid out his plate of dinner before turning to leave, letting Tony have his peace and quiet while he could. Before he shut the door, he thought he heard Tony stir; but, if the little whimper had been his or something simply conjured up in Phil's mind, he was unsure.

When Tony awoke the next morning, his first thought was to go see Pepper. He had his idea, and he needed to implement it. Plus, he just...he just wanted to see her. For a bit.

Maybe, if this didn't work, for the last time.

Tony sighed and got up off the couch, making his way over to the door. Before he did, his knee hit the coffee table; as he cursed and looked down, his eyes widened.

A neatly wrapped plate of chicken and rice sat on the glass top of the coffee table, glinting in the morning sun. Tony picked it up and regarded it, wary. Then he sat the little post-it note attached to the plate.

_"If you don't eat something, I'm going to taser you. P.S. good luck. I have faith in you. -P."_

"You're ridiculous," Tony said, addressing the plate of chicken in Phil's place. Still, he was smiling as he scarfed the cold chicken down and went out to his car.

...

Phil came home from buying groceries and inhaled slowly. He could hear Tony welding down in the lab already; nothing good came from any work he was doing before noon.

He put away what needed to be frozen immediately, and then made his way downstairs. Tony was working furiously away at the tubing from yesterday, but with more purpose than before; he could see the spark of inspiration in every flex of his muscle and curving bow of his spine.

"It's not level," was the only thing Tony said to him. "I gotta make it level. If I wanna live, it's gotta be level, Phil."

"I see," Phil said, regarding the room. "Oh, how about—"

He went to go grab what he thought was a hammered disc of metal and almost dropped it. His glee overrode his shock, however, and so he gripped it so tight his hands shook once the initial jolt of surprise passed him.

"This—this is—"

"What, that? Yeah, gimme, it'll do," Tony said. Phil held it to his chest, protective.

"Are you nuts? What—what—this is—"

"A shield," Tony said. "Yeah. It's his. So what?"

"So—so it's _his!"_ Phil said, unable to contain himself any longer, a huge grin on his face. "God, it's _gorgeous_ , I mean—"

"Thanks, I made it," Tony cut in. "So, uh...yeah, you...conventions?"

"Every single one in the Tristate area," Phil said, more smug about that than he should have been. "You?"

"Dad loved him," Tony said, his lip curling in distaste. "Still, he got...he got me through a lot. I guess I loved him too. Mostly so dad didn't get to keep him. I...I mean, he can get me through this, too."

Phil regarded Tony for a second and debated telling him. 

He decided against it; Fury would gut him, for one. Besides, Tony would live to see the day they lifted his hero from the ice. That, Phil was sure of.

"Sure can," Phil agreed, helping Tony place the shield beneath the tubing. He checked the level and grinned.

"Good to go?" Phil asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Good as it'll ever get," Tony said with a nod. "Hey, question. Did you ever collect the cards? I never got number sixty-seven, and it—"

"All of them," Coulson replied immediately. "Doubles. Triples of number seventy-nine, in fact."

The utter look of shock on Tony's face made confessing his hobby entirely worth it.

"...So, uh," Tony said, shaking his head. "Christ, I'll give you whatever you want for that one."

"Hey, just stay alive long enough to trade, and I'll call it a day," Phil said. " _But,_ if you have the 1967 metal lunchbox with all the Commandos on it too, I wouldn't say no."

"I have five," Tony said with a smile and a shake of his head. "Done deal, then, Phil."

The two of them shared a huge grin, and Phil felt a little more at ease about the engineer than he had the day before. He would be all right. If they were both lucky, Steve himself might see to that.

He was about to ask Tony how to turn on the machine when his phone went off. 

"Hold on," he said, "you start it up, I need to take this. It's the Director."

Tony nodded, shooing him off as he called to JARVIS, "All systems go, buddy!"

Phil climbed the steps as the machine began to whirr, hoping only for the best as he picked up his phone.

"Director?" Phil said. "What's happened? Is Clint all right?"

 _"Fine, Phil. He's just fine, if a bit whiny,"_ Fury said. _"We may have more on our hands than we bargained for, however. There's a bit of a mess on our hands down here, and we need you."_

"I see," Phil said carefully. "What constitutes a 'bit of a mess,' Director?"

_"So, how up to date are you on your Norse mythology?"_

"Jesus Christ," Phil said with a sigh.

 _"I'll take that as a 'very,'_ " Fury replied. " _Look, it won't be too long. Just long enough to ensure no one comes to harm while we sort this out. Tony okay?"_

"Fine," Phil replied. "He'll be just fine. I think he did it, sir."

 _"Good for him, we'll take him out for burgers to celebrate later. Right now, I need you to go if he doesn't need you anymore. Clint'll be ecstatic,"_ Fury said. 

Phil sighed. Damn him, he knew he had him there. He hated working with that man for as long as he had, sometimes. He started to learn the best ways to push your buttons beyond reason.

 _"You go make sure Tony's gonna be all right. If he's fixed himself up, jet back down here to Puente Antiguo and we'll see what we can make of this mess. If not, let me know immediately,"_ Fury said.

Phil massaged his temples and nodded. "Of course, Director. I'll text you when I'm on the plane."

 _"You've got a lot of faith in him,"_ Fury said.

"He has a lot of faith in me," Phil replied. "I suppose I should return the favor."

_"Good. You're gonna be in charge of him, seems fair."_

"Whoa, wait, I take it back, I don't—"

The Director laughed and hung up. Phil just groaned and went downstairs to see what could be done about Tony.

He returned downstairs to the other man beaming broadly at him, holding up the arc reactor's old core with a huge grin.

"Made my own goddamn element," he said. "Nobel Prize in the bag for this year, thanks."

"You're going to be okay," Phil said with a small smile. "I'm glad, Tony. Really glad."

"Yeah, me too," Tony said. "I, uh—thanks. For...before. You really helped me out."

"I—"

Phil hesitated. He would've brushed it off, called it his job, had it been anyone else. The last thing Tony needed was another person he feared was only around because they had to be.

"I'm glad I could," he said, and he meant it. "You're a hard man to handle, Tony Stark."

"Part of the charm," he replied with a grin. "You gotta go somewhere, huh? S'written all over your face."

"I'm needed down in New Mexico," Phil said, and the twinge of regret that pierced him made him stutter for a second. That, he wasn't used to. "S.H.I.E.L.D. business."

"Isn't it always?" Tony replied. "Don't worry, I'm gonna be fine. I got an Expo to crash."

"Please just be careful," Phil told him. "I'll be back by the end of the week. I expect a status report when I am."

"You'll get one, you'll get one," Tony promised, waving his hand aimlessly. "Bye, Phil. Be safe."

"You too," Phil said. "Promise."

"I promise," Tony replied. "To a reasonable degree."

"Fair enough," Phil said. "Now go, you've got things to do."

The two of them nodded, in understanding of one another. They clasped hands and prepared to leave, until abruptly, Tony hugged him. It was short and quick and he almost seemed scared to hang on too long, but Phil hugged him back until he pulled away.

"I, uh—thanks," Tony repeated. "Thanks. A lot. For everything."

Phil just nodded, ruffling his hair and leaving Tony to sort himself out as he left the house and headed off for the airport, a S.H.I.E.L.D. car already awaiting him outside. He wasn't too worried. He would have plenty of time to handle Tony later—and, hopefully, an extra set of hands.


	7. Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint messes up. Phil has an error in communication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, if you don't think Phil Coulson would be worthy to wield Mjolnir, get out of my face.  
> Second, I'm sorry about the lateness; I had a chorus concert plus concert rehearsal all week, so it ate up all my free time. I made the chapter a bit longer to compensate.  
> I will always find some way to put my lesbian OTPs in fic, too. Just for the record. There's a reason I keep having Victoria Hand show up despite not even a cameo in the MCU.  
> Toyed with the events in Thor somewhat for the sake of plot, so sorry if the continuity changes bother you; it's nothing major, I just trimmed off anything that wasn't plot-important.

Phil didn't get to see Clint when he came to New Mexico, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. Still, he had a job to do, and he'd do it, whether he liked it or not. 

Phil sighed, pulling out of the little town's dusty streets with a frown. He'd liked Jane Foster, as well as her slight, smart-mouthed girlfriend, (Jane could call her what she liked; Phil wasn't blind), and if he hadn't been confiscating her work, he'd have wanted to recruit her.

If she was right about this whole 'Norse god' thing, maybe he would regardless. She'd get her stuff back, and that would sway her opinion considerably, he was sure.

Phil smiled, shaking his head as he pulled into the base that his agents had set up, giving quick orders to pass off her equipment and analyze it before he went to go find Clint.

He could've gone to lift the hammer. If he had, he might have found he could have done it, and done so with ease. Except that would make him an immortal god of thunder, and the universe had other plans for him.

That said, he decided on the better of two options; going to meet his lover.

Fury was right, Coulson noted with the barest hint of a grin. Judging from the way he clung to Sitwell, yammering in his ear, he was getting whiny. Not that Clint's neediness was anything new; part of the reason that Phil had been assigned the archer in the first place was that he was the only one who seemed to both appreciate and handle the needy whining properly.

"Barton, stand down, he'll go deaf soon," Phil said, watching as Clint's body language changed entirely. He was so much more relaxed, the anxiety and stress entirely gone from his bearing, his expression.

 _"Phil!"_ He cried, beaming. "I mean, uh—sir, good to see you."

"Jasper, a moment," Phil said, his little smile widening just a bit. Fraternization regulations were a joke enough in the S.H.I.E.L.D. offices as it was. The last thing he needed was to add to the punchline.

"Right, Phil," the other agent said, trying not to crack a smile. "I'll go see to Agent Frost."

He left with a bit of a smile on his face, and Phil wondered, privately, if the Director only had the fraternization rule on the books because he had a secret appreciation for irony. If there was anyone he would not put that entirely past, it would be Nick.

Clint latched onto him, hugging him tight and nuzzling into his neck, like he was a lost puppy greeting their master for the first time in months.

"Hey, Clint," Phil said quietly, ruffling his hair. "How've you been, princess?"

"Real good," Clint promised. "I did good, I swear. Sitwell has the reports."

"I'm sure you whined incessantly, to the surprise of no one," Phil said, tsking, "but it makes me feel more appreciated than it perhaps should, so I'll let it slide. I have something else I want to discuss, anyway."

"Oh, okay. What's up?" Clint asked, looking up at him with wide, soft eyes, a sweet but battered blue. Coulson's heart ached at the vulnerability laid out before him, bruised and raw.

How could he tell Clint he didn't want him to behave like this at work? It sounded cruel even when it was simply an echo off the insides of his mind. He loved to see Clint like this; his greatest pleasure was to watch him relax, regress to a safer place, a place where he was happy. A place where he could trust Phil, and himself.

But the thing was, this place wasn't it. This was a hard place, a rough place, and its inhabitants were the kind that would knife Clint the second they sensed vulnerability within him. 

Coulson was aware of his newfound power and prestige; as the S.H.I.E.L.D.-appointed liason for the Avengers Initiative forces, he was the link between man and superman—more importantly, the key to power for any S.H.I.E.L.D. agent interested in picking the lock.

If Clint got in the way of that, they would blind him, cripple him, kill him—anything to get him out of the way. Phil could not let him be seen as an easy target. Even if it caused him pain, he had to give him the orders Clint needed to take care of himself. That was what a dominant did.

"Clint," Phil said, then hedged; how in Christ's name did he tell the other man what he needed to know?

"This isn't a safe place," Phil said, lowering his voice. "I'm going to protect you. But you have to keep yourself well-protected, too. Otherwise, you and I will never make it back somewhere safe. Understand?"

Clint's eyes widened, and Phil's guilt couldn't have been deeper. He looked hurt, agonized, and confused; the scared little boy was back, and if Phil comforted him, he might get him killed.

"O-okay," Clint said, his voice soft. "But you'll still take care of me?"

"Always, Clint," Phil promised. "You just can't let people know how much you need that."

Clint's eyes grew sharp with understanding, and he nodded, before another look of concern crossed his face.

"Uh, I'm not big on PDA anyway, but," Clint asked, his face flushing just slightly, "could we maybe kiss sometimes, or is that too much?"  
  
"Kissing's fine," Phil replied, "but, er, I feel the same way. At least around here. Do you really want Fury to catch us kissing?"

Clint giggled, shaking his head as he hid his face in Phil's neck for a sweet, fleeting second. Phil stroked his hair for as long as he dared, holding tight to Clint as he did.

"Nooo," he agreed, stifling further laughter. "C'mon, Phil. I got us a tent together. 'Cause this place is 'too claustrophobic' or something."

"You little liar," Phil said, shaking his head with a smile. "All right, Clint. Jetlag's catching up with me, and I could use a nap."

"'Kay!" Clint agreed, taking his hand and leading Phil down the hall towards the agents' tents. Phil didn't know why Clint thought they had to be secret about having a relationship, in the general sense; most agents flaunted theirs openly, for one reason or another, (usually, psychological dysfunction, but given the mental state of half their agents, this was unsurprising.) 

Still, he loved the mischievous glee it gave Clint to treat their love like a secret; a playful little boy's secret rather than the tangled, dark webs of lies their lives were always at risk of becoming. An innocent, wholesome lie made him happy, and the love behind it was real, so Phil protested no further as Clint led him to bed.

...

The sweetness didn't last; it never did. Phil awoke to the pounding of a storm with a defeated sigh, dressing quickly and looking around the tent. 

With a twinge, he realized Clint had already gotten dressed and gone. Then he considered why they would need an assassin out and ready, and was fleeing the tent himself in a matter of mere seconds.

He made his way back into the larger enclosure, finding himself a walkie-talkie and adjusting the frequency to Clint's immediately. He was grateful the higher-up agents had their own special frequencies; Phil had never once forgotten Clint's number, or vice-versa.

"Barton, talk to me," he said. "Where are you?"

 _"Up, sir,_ " Clint replied, and Phil tensed before he could stop himself. 

"I see," he said quietly. "Why do we need you up and about, little hawk?"

_"Big blond beefcake, the usual. I'm just here to get pictures for Hill."_

"You're up there for no good reason, then," Phil said, with a smile. "Really, Clint, you're terrible at observing people."

 _"Well, sir, I would figure you're no better. How long did it take_ you _to realize I had a thing for you?"_

"That's different, I didn't consider myself _nearly_ an adequate enough lover for you," Phil retorted. "And what about you, Clint?"

 _"How d'ya think I felt? Jesus, Phil, if you think_ you're _some kind of fuck-up, I mean—_ "

"We need to stop flirting and bickering on the comms before this becomes a habit," Phil said, cutting him off. "Clint, status."

_"Can't get to him, he's kicking ass. Do me a favor and stay the hell out of his way."_

"Understood," Phil replied. "Clint, when I give you the order, take the shot. Got it?"

_"Yeah, I know. Not gonna kill the guy, yeah?"_

"No, just...incapacitate him. We spent at least two days building this damn tent, and if it comes down around our feet, we're going to have to rebuild it," Phil said. "We're not here to play construction crew."

_"No, but evidently our agents aren't much better at playing 'beat up the bad guy,' either, 'cause they're getting their asses kicked."_

"Christ," Phil said with a groan. "When can you get to him?"

_"Soon, sir. Right in front of the hammer now. Want me to take the shot, or you gonna let him take out our whole damn agency?"_

"See what he does first," Phil said, and Clint readied his bow.

After he did, he did as Coulson asked, watching the man. He looked absolutely, utterly heartbroken as he regarded the hammer; Clint couldn't help but feel a surge of immense pity for him as he tugged it, to no avail. He was saying something, but Clint wasn't close enough to make it out.

Still, he wished he could say something to the guy. He looked like a lost little kid, scared and alone. Clint suspected that was a new thing for him, wall of muscle that he was.

Clint just kept his bow steady and shook his head. Whatever it was, when Phil got ahold of him, he could fix it. Phil could fix anything.

"Make the call, sir, I'm starting to root for the guy," Clint said, holding his arrow and waiting.

_"Clint, just wait, we've got agents coming to handle it. Don't—"_

"Sir, Christ's sake, why do you want me up here to do _nothing_?" Clint snapped. "If I don't get him soon, he'll—

 _"I don't care._ Do not argue with me, _Clint."_

Clint swore and ripped out the comm, grasping his bow as he jumped off the perch, storming off to their tent. Phil could yell at him all he wanted later. He was _useless,_ and it made him angrier than he'd been in awhile.

Bitter tears sprung to his eyes, and he buried his face into the thin pillow of his cot, sobbing dry, burning tears that heaved his chest and made him ache. Phil wouldn't be back for a long time. He could cry if he wanted to.

...

Phil held the communicator in his hands and tried with all his might not to sigh.

No, it wasn't Clint's fault. Not entirely. He should have been clearer, more convincing. He should have explained it wasn't Clint's fault he wasn't needed, that there was nothing wrong with him.

Unfortunately, the middle of a fight was a terrible time to do that, and Phil knew it. Still, it was consuming him with frustration, a need to sort the problem out and get things together, for Clint's sake. He knew how the other man worked; he was almost certainly having a breakdown, plagued by inadequacy and fears that Phil would hate him now. Coulson needed to fix Clint. He needed to be with him and take care of him.

But right now, he had another man to deal with.

Getting a good look at the man before him baffled him. He was built like a merc, fought like a trained assassin, but his eyes were soft and sad, and his face was open, sweet and honest, like a fair knight in a child's story.

"You are troubled," the man spoke. "I know that aching look in a man's eyes. Is it your lady love?"

"He's not a lady," Phil said without thinking, before suddenly realizing what he'd said and shaking his head. "And anyway, what does it mean to you?"

"Forgive me. I should not have presumed," the man said, his voice quiet and rough, like the rumble of thunder. "It means...well, it means I suppose you and I are fighting much the same fight."

"Oh, there is no way you came here to steal this hammer to impress a girl. That's not going to work," Phil said. The man laughed.

"No. I came to get the lady's work. It is her true passion, her pride and joy. But she was not the sorrow I spoke of," he said. "Is that your sorrow as well? The one you love has changed in ways you do not understand, that they will not speak of? And when you wish to ask, you know not how?"

Phil didn't like the man, and it wasn't because he was wrong. People who could hand his agents their asses and then promptly cleave his fears to the bone were people he either befriended or shot. 

He wasn't much for indiscriminate killing, and so he realized with muted dread he and this man would end up being allies at some point.

That said, he was right, and his words were running through Phil's head.

Clint wasn't always like this. But Phil knew with a deep sense of melancholy attached to the idea that this was the pain that lurked beneath all that Clint was. Phil didn't know where to begin, or how to ask him about it, or beg the man to tell him what to do, to help him make a plan to fix all this. He couldn't fix him. He didn't even know what had broken down this time.

"It's irrelevant anyway," he spoke out loud, not sure if he was trying to put a stop to the conversation or his own thoughts. "Besides..."

He sighed. He couldn't do this. 

Fortunately, as his phone rang and he answered, Sitwell explaining the situation to him, he didn't have to.

"Go," he said. "And do me a favor; next time, if you're gonna impress a girl, just buy her flowers."

The man laughed, shaking his head as Phil left the room, the guilt he felt at neglecting his normal faithful attentiveness to the job superceded by his burning desire to find Clint and try with whatever might he had left to fix this.

He passed the hammer as he went; if it glowed, calling out to him, Phil had something better waiting for him at the moment.


	8. Lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of Phil's big week. Clint buys him a present to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay holy shit major TW for abuse at the beginning. Discussion of it only, but you can get the idea. Please skip it if it bothers you!!  
> Also ok we are at an impasse. I'm debating starting a new story and linking them as part of a series, because the next bit focuses more on other pairings as well. I don't know if that's a good idea or not; that totally depends on the feedback I get. Just let me know, okay? I really appreciate it!

Clint curled up, sniffling and wiping his eyes as he steadied his breathing. He needed to keep his cool. He was in so much trouble. 

Now that his anger had passed, Clint was scared. What if Phil beat him? Barney used to beat him until his thighs were hot and white with welts, and he would take away his bed privileges or his bathroom privileges if he didn't learn his lesson the first time. Clint had already screwed up once. What would happen to him now?

The tent flap was opened, and Clint flinched as he heard the sound of footsteps. He knew crying would only get him in more trouble, but he was sick to his stomach with fear as he heard Phil approach. The closer he got, the farther Clint edged away on the cot, shaking and shivering until, abruptly, the weight shifted on the bed and he tipped over, the cot falling on top of him.

The sound was loud and sharp in the confines of the tent. Coulson just watched as Clint pressed his face against the fabric of the tent wall and began to sob in silent terror.

"Clint," he spoke, before deciding he couldn't bear to break the silence and falling still.

 _"I don't want to be beaten_ ," Clint rasped, his words more gasped than spoken, a hissing plea that made his voice ache.

"I'm not going to beat you," Coulson said, keeping his voice quiet as he picked up the cot and righted it, smoothing out the blankets. "Not ever. There is a difference between corporal punishment and outright beatings, Clint. I will _never_ do what your brother did."

"He _loved me_ ," Clint snapped, his voice breaking. "He made me _useful._ You—"

"Clint, he beat you _bloody_. He's the reason you're on the floor right now, so terrified of me that you didn't even worry about falling off the bed," Phil snapped back, too worried about him to think about being gentle. "And I'm sorry, did you say _useful_? Do you really think being _abused, manipulated_ , and _lied to_ is being made _useful?_ "

 _"Yes,"_ Clint rasped, breaking down into tears again.

Phil sighed, kneeling down and picking him up, his knees groaning in protest as he sat Clint back down on the bed, shushing him and stroking his hair.

"Darling," he murmured once, before letting the other man sob a few minutes more.

When Clint's tears had quieted entirely, Phil kissed him and stroked his hair.

"Do you want to feel useful, Clint?" He said. "Is that really it?"

"I...I shouldn't be out there if I'm not doing anything, sir," Clint murmured. "If I'm not doing anything, I'm doing something wrong, and I should be punished. And when you didn't want me to make the shot...I felt like I wasn't needed. And if I'm not needed, I can...I can be replaced."

"Clint," Phil said, his heart aching. "Clint, darling. Please, tell me you trust me enough to believe that I'm never going to replace you."

"I'm so scared," Clint replied, his voice small and soft as he clung to Phil. "I wasn't before, sir. But you didn't know me then, sir. Now...now you've seen me when I'm all...broken-up and tiny. And I don't know if you want this. I...I trust you, sir. But I don't think you know who you're trusting anymore."

"The same man I always was," Coulson replied, lightly scratching at his scalp. "You haven't changed, Clint. You've just let me see more of you. And it could never make me love you any less."

Clint closed his eyes, and was quiet for a long time afterwards.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm trying really hard."

"I know," Phil replied. "You're doing okay, Clint. Don't beat yourself up so much over this. You're going to be fine. We just need to talk."

"Okay," Clint said. "I'm...sorry. I shouldn't have stormed off."

"And I shouldn't have gotten so angry without due cause," Coulson replied. "I was scared for you, but that doesn't make it all right."

"And...and I mean..." Clint trailed off, hesitant. Coulson smiled.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice tender. "You're not useless. You could never be useless. And you've done nothing wrong. We both made a mistake tonight, I think. I need to keep my cool when you're in danger, and you need to trust that when I order you to retreat or stand down, it's not because I don't trust your skill. It's because I love you and want you safe. Okay?"

"Okay," Clint said, his voice quavering just a bit. Coulson kissed the top of his head.

"Do you feel like a good boy, princess?" He asked.

"No," Clint whispered. 

Coulson smiled, stroking his hair.

"If you want, I'll do what I can to fix that," he said. "Anything to make you feel good, Clint."

"I don't know," Clint replied, burying his face in Phil's neck. "I know I need to be punished, but I don't want that. Not tonight. I..I want to be hugged, and kissed, and put to bed. That's all. I...I just want to know I'm okay."

"All right, princess," Phil murmured. "Hey, look at me."

Clint did, his eyes bright red and wet-rimmed. Phil kissed the gap between them and stroked his hair.

"You don't need to be punished tonight," he said. "We both made a few mistakes that we fixed together. We're not used to handling this in the field, and now we know how to do it. You did a lot tonight, being so open with me like that. You aren't going to be punished. You're my good boy, and you're getting a reward. Understand?"

"Okay," Clint mumbled, his voice tiny and trembling with hope. "Okay, sir. Can you...can you please tuck me in, sir?"

"Yes, my little hawk, of course. Lie down, it's all right..." Phil murmured, stripping him out of his uniform and tossing the rain-soaked gear aside, pulling off his boots and muddy socks before bundling him up in the pajamas they had packed, wrapping him in a spare blanket Phil had brought from home. Clint didn't move save for when Phil directed his movement, lying pliant and still. 

"Good boy, very good boy," Phil told him, stroking his hair. "Good boy. It's going to be all right, Clint. You get some rest. We'll figure out what we're doing in the morning."

Clint smiled up at him one more time, sleepy and soft, before closing his eyes and drifting off, peaceful.

Coulson stroked his hair until he was sure Clint was in a deep, still sleep, then undressed and climbed into bed beside him, nestling him into his arms and kissing the back of his neck and his shoulder until he drifted off, content.

...

Evidently, what they were doing in the morning was scrapping with a Norse god.

Well, not exactly. More like a Norse giant robot. 

Clint, thankfully, hadn't been needed for that mission. Phil was on his own against said giant robot, until Norse warriors showed up and Phil promptly stopped trying to piece the situation together. His resolve was only strengthened when Thor himself arrived, bathed in thunder and lightning, his godhood restored and his cape trailing behind him.

The idea occurred to him that Fury would definitely want to keep this one on the Initiative.

"Son of Coul," Thor greeted him as Phil began internally screaming. "Has your sorrow been solved?"

He stopped, regarding the man's soft blue eyes once more. Thor simply gave him a small smile.

"Not entirely," he confessed. "But you have to show them you're willing to forgive and allow them second chances. And if they know your anger doesn't take away your love, it helps."

"Good advice," Thor murmured, sighing heavily. "I shall have to go put it into action on my brother, I believe. When I return, I will come find you. There is no better man to handle these matters on Midgard than you, I believe."

"I'm flattered," Phil said, the screaming starting up again. "Take your time with your brother, by all means."

Thor chuckled, before turning to Jane and stroking her hair. He smiled at her, sweet and affectionate.

"You have been brave, Jane Foster," he said. "My most worthy companion. Treat her well and await my return. I will come for you."

"I—I will," Jane replied. "Thor, please stay safe."

"I will do all I can," he promised. "As will you?"

Jane nodded, clenching her fists and squaring her jaw. Phil saw her eyes shining bright with the effort it took not to cry.

"Be excellent, dude," Darcy said. "Don't destroy anything unless you have to."

Thor laughed and hugged her, ruffling her hair.

"And you behave, my sharp-tongued lady," he admonished her. "Aid Jane where you can. She needs you more than she knows. And I will have need of all of you, sure enough."

He looked at Selvig; silence passed between them, tinged with something more.

"I'll watch over the girls," he promised. "You do what you need to."

Thor nodded, bowing to them all before he left with his warriors. Phil was quiet, watching them leave, before he regarded the robot lying on the ground.

He picked up his communicator and said, "So we've got an EVA situation down here, and I need a few people to handle it, pronto."

 _"Wow, Gendo, I didn't think you were a fan,_ " Sitwell's voice resounded in his ear, amused. Phil sighed.

"Tony watches a lot of television," was his only reply as his agents swarmed the Destroyer, handling it as only S.H.I.E.L.D. agents knew how.

...

Phil and Clint came home that night with a long, heavy sigh, relaxing at the door. They were scheduled for a briefing in the morning, but for now, they had each other. Natasha would return in the morning as well, with news on Tony. 

"Fury said he had something else to show me, too," Phil said, covering a yawn. "I'm not sure what it is, but it isn't important."

"Can't be cooler than a giant Norse robot," Clint said with a grin. "Wish I'd seen it." 

"It could've hurt you," Phil replied with a frown. "I'd rather not put you in danger when I don't need to, love."

"I figured," Clint agreed with a yawn. "Tell me what happens to it? No way S.H.I.E.L.D.'s gonna let that thing go."

"Well, of course not," he replied, "but we'll worry about it later. It's time for a shower, princess. I'll make something to eat."

"'Kay," Clint said, heading upstairs and going to shower as Phil started up the microwave, heating leftovers up for the two of them. He'd have rather cooked for Clint, but they were both exhausted.

Phil was bringing up a tray just as Clint left the shower, naked and dripping. Clint grinned at the sight of him and Phil smiled in reply, going over his body quietly in his mind. 

No new scars from this mission. It had been simple, and Clint had stayed safe. That was what counted. Clint's safe return soothed him as it always did, but...something deeper remained. Something sweeter. 

Clint nuzzled Phil's neck, eager to be soothed. Phil kissed his ear, nipping lightly at his earlobe. Clint gestured to dinner, curious; Phil smiled.

"On your knees, then," he said. 

Clint got a pillow and sank to his knees beside the edge of the bed, tilting his head and watching Phil, curious.

"Open your mouth," Phil said, his voice gentle and quiet. Clint smiled before doing as he was told, letting Phil slip bites of food in his mouth. Clint ate quietly, peaceful and at ease, relaxing more with every bite until he finally whined, his stomach full and settled comfortably inside him.

"Good boy," Phil said, his voice warm. "Go get your pajamas on, Clint. It's a bit warm tonight. Something thin?"

Clint grinned, rifling through the drawers. Phil noted that he wasn't going through his normal drawer, but in the dim light, he wasn't sure what he was getting. 

Clint turned the light on before climbing into bed, and Phil finally saw what he was wearing.

A light lavender camisole covered his chest, thin sheer cloth that showed glints of the dark, dusky nipples beneath. He wore a silky pair of lavender panties; they were simple and sheer, but a perfect fit.

Coulson stared for a long, quiet moment.

"Natasha," he finally said, "is going to kill you."

"She's cool," Clint replied. "They're not hers. I, uh, I asked. Her. To. Y'know. So I could."

Phil fell silent again, contemplative. 

"I see," he said, his throat dry. "I'll have to thank her."

"There's some other stuff," Clint mumbled. "We can look at it later."

"I'd love that," Phil said, giving him a quick kiss. "We'll do it when we're not busy. I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be a bit hectic."

Clint nodded, grinning as he climbed into bed beside Phil. He stroked his hair, gentling and kissing him with soft, quick touches. Clint curled close to Phil, laying down and closing his eyes, his slow breathing lulling Phil to sleep even as he fell asleep himself, the two men entwined with one another.

...

Coulson walked into work the next morning to find Captain America waiting for him.

Clint loved him more than he could say, and so he didn't make fun of the way that Phil dropped his briefcase and squealed, absolutely and completely delighted.

"He's still asleep," Fury said. "We have to acclimate him to this century, and carefully."

"So you're gonna have his cheerleading squad follow him around," Clint said with a grin.

"Sounds about right," Fury agreed. "I wouldn't worry about it, he'll be all right. Phil and Tony will be enough."

"Ooh, Tony?" Clint grinned, crossing his legs as he perched beside the bed. "So, who's part of this little group of ours, Director?"

"Thor, when he gets back," Fury replied. "We still have to pin down Banner; Natasha has his location, and she's on her way. Stark, as much as we can count on the guy. The two of you, and...well, him."

"He's all we need," Phil said, beaming. "We did it. We brought him back!"

"Oh, lord, we'll never hear the end of this one," Fury said with a sigh. "Phil, I need you to take care of these people. They're broken. You know that. And you're exactly the kind of man they need."

"I'll do what I can," Phil promised. "That's why I'm here, Director."

"Exactly," Fury replied. "Clint and Natasha are living proof. I'm trusting you with them. They're gods and monsters and superhuman men, and they need to realize that they need you."

"I...well, all right," Phil said. "I'll do the best I can, Director. They deserve it."

"You mean the Captain does," Clint said with a grin. Phil huffed.

"No, you all do," he said. "And I'll do whatever I can to protect you. I promise you that."

Clint beamed, content. Phil idly stroked his hair as he said, "I'll watch over the Captain, Director. It'll be all right."

Fury nodded, letting the two of them be as Phil watched his hero, positively vibrating with joy.

"Dork," Clint said, trying not to laugh as he shook his head. Phil huffed, kissing his cheek. Clint watched Steve, contemplative, then looked at Phil.

"Hey, Phil? What happens now?" Clint asked. "I mean, the Initiative, and...and I mean, y'know. Us."

"I'm not ever going to leave you," Phil promised. "No matter what happens, we're going to stick together. And it's going to get a lot more chaotic now, and a lot harder...but I'll protect you. And you'll have people to fight alongside, and they'll keep you safe, too."

Clint nodded, giving him a small, hesitant smile.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Good to know. I trust you, Phil."

Phil grinned, giving him a quick kiss and stroking his hair. "Thank you, princess. You know that means more to me than anything. I promise I'll live up to it."

"I know," Clint replied. "Phil?"

"Yeah?" He asked.

"Do I still gotta do paperwork?" Clint asked. 

Phil laughed, kissing his cheek. 

"Oh, there'll be plenty of paperwork, princess. But we'll have more people to split it with," he promised. "Don't worry. Things are going to be better from now on."

Clint closed his eyes and buried his face into Phil's shoulder. 

"No one else has ever told me that," he murmured. "And I wouldn't have believed anyone but you, Phil."

Phil beamed, giving him another kiss. Clint smiled, his whole body relaxing as Phil took his hand and squeezed it, a silent promise for something more.


	9. Asimov's Laws of Robotics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Tony have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just decided to make it one story, and if anything REALLY deviates, I'll add it to a separate fic. Seems easier!  
> Anyways, oh boy timeskip+more pairings, woo!  
> In case it isn't obvious, for the purposes of dom/sub fic, it's suddenly become a Conveniently Common Kink, for those of you who make a home on TVtropes. Wooooops I have too much fun writing this.  
> If you don't know Asimov's laws of Robotics, I highly recommend looking them up. ^u^ Not that they're relevant, but it's cool! Especially if you're into sci-fi.

Living with the Avengers was more complicated than it had a right to be.

It had been three months they'd all spent living in the confines of Stark Tower, and Phil was still trying to re-orient himself to the new life he'd found himself in. 

It was nice to have a floor for both himself and Clint; a lot more peaceful, and considering Tony was prudent enough to put in soundproof rooms, a little more relaxing knowing neither of them could be heard when Clint got vocal.

That said, there was the matter pertaining to the rest of the occupants of the other floors of Stark Tower.

Natasha was someone they were used to living with; it didn't bother them to see her wandering around the house at three in the morning, nor did her 'training exercises' faze them. They were used to having to stay on their toes around her. Tony, less so. 

(She was smart enough not to jump out of the cabinet at Bruce, six in the morning or not. Even the great Black Widow knew when to refrain.)

Bruce was the easiest of them all to handle, much to Coulson's surprise and abject relief. The doctor was soft-spoken, gentle, and a desperate sponge for affection. Even a simple smile or kind word had the man beaming, exultant. Clint had started to spend time with him when Phil was busy with paperwork; he didn't protest, seeing as both of them seemed a bit happier for it.

Thor had yet to return from Asgard, and it worried all of them, but the occasional word they received from a set of beady-eyed, bright-feathered ravens was positive enough. Still, Phil privately hoped things were as good for the god as he said they were.

Pepper had been spending a lot of time in Stark Tower, and not on Tony's floor. If Phil happened to catch her in the elevator getting off at Natasha's level, he said nothing. 

Natasha, for her part, just gave him an enigmatic smile every time their eyes met, and Phil wondered briefly just what exactly Pepper was learning up on her floor. Since the other woman hadn't taken up jumping out of the cabinets at four in the morning to keep Tony on his toes as some kind of hobby, he let it be.

Tony himself didn't exactly make things easy on any of them; the engineer was moody and stubborn and prideful. The few glimpses of vulnerability Coulson got were always private, always rushed and hidden away as quickly as they had arrived. He didn't know what to do, and, it seemed, neither did the Captain.

Steve followed Tony around like a lost puppy sometimes; not always, considering there were missions and training sessions and his time spent upstairs painting to factor in, but enough to make the other Avengers notice.

Steve tried to give Tony his space; that was also clear. But Phil was observant, and more importantly, he'd seen this play out before, in both his own relationship and others'. He wanted to do something for the man he'd once called hero, and now called friend. Steve was worth that.

Besides...if anyone in the entire world could get through to Tony, it would be the man he had an entire secret room of merchandise for.

"I need you to talk to Tony," Phil said, tracing little circles on Clint's skin as they laid in bed together. Clint yawned, nuzzling into his touch.

"Somethin' up, Phil?" He asked. Phil sighed.

"I think so," he said. "There's always something up with Tony, honestly, but it's getting worse. The Avengers stress is starting to wear on him, moreso than it is on any of us."

"It'd be bothering me a lot more if I didn't have you to take care of me, sir," Clint mumbled, nuzzling his neck. "You're the only thing keeping me going. Same goes for everyone else, I figure."

"I'm honored," Phil replied with a small smile. "Clint, I'm...just glad I haven't been neglectful, I suppose. I know this isn't easy, and if we were busy before—"

"Yeah, but now they can't take you away from me," Clint said, squeezing his hands. "Y'know, you can't be reassigned. No one else is going to be your asset. You're the only handler I'll ever have, and I'm just...it's good, sir. It's so good. Busy or not."

Phil hugged him tight and kissed the top of his head. 

"Good boy," he murmured. "I'm so proud of you for adjusting. You deserve a reward for all your good behavior, princess, but not tonight. We won't have enough time." 

He kissed Clint's forehead and smiled.

"How about tomorrow night, then," he said. "If you can get Tony to open up, that'd be wonderful too."

Clint beamed, nuzzling into Phil's chest and letting his dominant wrap his arms around him, squeezing him close.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm being good, sir? I'm keeping you happy?"

Phil thought of all the times in the past three months that Clint had opened up to him, come back to him safe and sound, helped him cook dinner, listened to records with him, and fought alongside him in the field when he needed his eyes. 

"Clint, this is the happiest I've ever been," he promised, and with a sweet, small grin spreading across his face, he knew he meant it. From the way Clint's eyes lit up, he could evidently tell, too.

"Me too, Phil," he replied. "Really, I...I'm just..."

He clung to the other man tight and grinned.

"You're a real good dom," he promised. "S'good to know I'm getting taken care of by you. I feel...y'know, safe."

Phil embraced him and kissed his forehead, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

"I'm so glad, princess," he said. "I'll always take care of you. Rest now. I'll still be here in the morning."

Clint closed his eyes, content and secure in the promise his lover made. He drifted off in a matter of minutes, entirely relaxed and at ease. 

Phil watched him for a few minutes, marveling at the utter slackness of his bearing, the complete lack of tension that had once been his trademark sleeping pose; tightly curled, fists clenched, eyes screwed shut, like a freshly-hatched chick shivering in its nest. 

He had helped his little hawk fly. And he was getting so much stronger.

Phil pressed a light kiss to Clint's forehead before holding him close and drifting off beside him, his own bearing relaxed and easy, even in sleep.

...

It wasn't a strange thing for Clint to be in the lab, per se; he came in more often lately to bother Bruce about his latest project or talk to the robots. For reasons Tony had yet to entirely fathom, the robots all had a fondness for him. Similar intelligence levels, maybe.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed as Clint entered the lab, plunking himself down on a table. He couldn't even yell at him for it, considering he was doing the same thing. 

"Hey, Tony," Clint greeted him. "Bruce awake yet?"

"Nah, he's still sleeping," Tony replied. "So you can, y'know, go."

"I'll stay, thanks," Clint said. "Can't I have a conversation with you?"

"No," Tony said, turning back to his computer screens. "You couldn't keep up, anyway."

Clint narrowed his eyes and threw himself off the lab table with a simple light push of his arms, landing easily on his feet, the picture of grace as he stalked over to Tony's computers, reading the data over his shoulder.

"Your physics are off," he said. "You aren't accounting for the weight of the repulsors in the speed of the armor. Plus, you could probably stand to look at your equations on wind resistance again. I'm pretty sure we don't only fight on days where there's not even a light breeze."

Tony glared at him, shoving the screen aside. Clint shrugged.

"I'm an archer," he said, his voice clipped. "Just because I didn't go to MIT doesn't mean I don't know how to do shit. It's what kept me a good shot. Hell, it's probably what kept me alive, once or twice."

Tony regarded him for a few seconds, and Clint got a chance to take a full look at his face.

There were bags under his eyes, which were a sick, bitter bright, and bloodshot to boot. His hands drummed at his sides, his fingers chewed up and bleeding at the edges, like he'd been punishing himself by gnawing away at his cuticles. His stubble was a lot less artful than normal, and his hair was too askew to be a fashion statement.

Phil was right. He _really_ needed someone to intervene. 

"You can stay," was all he said, turning back to his computer. Clint laughed.

"Phil was right. That really _is_ the closest you get to an apology," he said. "S'okay. I used to be the same way before I let Phil in."

"Oh, good to know getting fucked into the mattress every night does you wonders," Tony replied, his voice sharp. "You know, for all the chicks I screw, that never seems to work out for me."

"First, you haven't brought a girl up since the Captain moved in," Clint retorted. Tony stared at him. Clint snorted. "Don't think I didn't notice."

He held up two fingers and huffed. "Second, Phil takes care of me. There's a difference between getting fucked and getting fussed over, Tony."

"If I make you a new set of arrows, will you leave me alone?" Tony demanded. "JARVIS, come on. Help me out, here."

 _"I happen to like the young master's company, Anthony. Forgive me,_ " he replied.

"God damn it, I'm your creator. What about Asimov's laws of robotics?" Tony retorted, on the verge of whining. Clint huffed.

"I'm not young, I'm twenty-seven," he complained. "Unless Tony's really that old."

_"You are younger than Anthony, but not by much. Though truthfully, sir, I did not think you that old. You have an air of...vulnerability, sir. At least, when you are here."_

"Yeah, well," Clint said, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly, "it's safe here. That's all."

Tony regarded him for a minute out of the corner of his eye, thinking.

"So, what's he really do to you?" He asked, fiddling with the equations Clint had pointed out. Clint yawned.

"Who, Phil? Well, uh," he said, "he makes sure I eat and get some rest. He makes sure I keep up with my training, but that I don't push myself too far. He puts me to bed and watches movies with me, and listens to me talk about my problems and junk."

"...Anything else?" Tony asked, prodding him. Clint's face flared red.

"Well, uh," he said, "I mean, if you mean kinky shit, he doesn't, like, whip me. Not my thing. He just...like...sometimes he ties me up so I can calm down and let go, y'know? So I don't need to focus on anything and I can just...get used. It's nice to let go like that. And sometimes if I screw up, he tells me what I did wrong, helps me fix it, and he, y'know...makes sure I don't do it again."

His face was burning, but he knew Tony was looking at him with a lot more interest in his eyes now, and that was worth the humiliation. Besides, he wasn't ashamed of his relationship with Phil. He was just, well...it was a little hard to explain.

"And it doesn't scare you? And he doesn't...y'know, take advantage of it?" Tony asked. Clint paused. There was something to Tony's tone that he didn't like.

"He's never scared me, ever. If I did get freaked out, though, we have a safeword," he said.

"That doesn't mean a goddamn thing," Tony replied, his voice harsher than he'd obviously intended, considering how he flinched afterwards. 

"With the right dom, it does," Clint said, keeping his voice low. "I trust Phil to stop if I need to use my safeword. I've never had to, but that takes practice, and trust. We've known each other for a long time, though, even before we started dating, so it's a bit easier."

"Right," Tony said, though he still looked cagey. "And...he's never...y'know, while you're tied up..."

"Well, being blindfolded still freaks me out," Clint confessed, "but we're working on it. And he's never tried to take advantage of me, whether or not I could see him at the time. He just wants to take care of me. That's what doms do. I trust him not to take advantage of me, and he doesn't."

Tony continued to watch him, quiet and hesitant. He backed away from Clint and began to fiddle with his hands, his touches absent and his eyes distant as he worried at a cut on his lip. 

Clint wanted to shake the other man by the shoulders and demand for him to tell him the truth about all the secrets he could see bubbling to the surface, just behind his eyes. 

It wouldn't get him anywhere, though, and it wasn't his place anyway. The person who needed to hear those secrets would be with them in a minute.

" _Oh, Bruce! And_ —"

JARVIS' speech whirred to a stop, and Clint sighed in relief as he heard a soft, hesitant, "Tony?"

 _"Captain,"_ JARVIS said. " _Oh,_ my."

Tony just stared at the man in his doorway, blank-faced.


	10. Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes care of Tony. Bruce has a few questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this was a few days late; things happened and oh dear. Hope you enjoy nonetheless!  
> So this is basically my way of explaining why there's a Conveniently Common Kink, haha. It's a bit flimsy but there you go.

Bruce approached Steve in the kitchen with a soft, small smile. Steve liked knowing the other man felt comfortable approaching him; it was a mark of pride to see Bruce still, no longer flinching if he raised his voice or a hand in his presence.

"Good morning, doctor," he said, his voice gentle. "Is something a problem?"

"Uh, I think Tony wants you up in the lab," Bruce said. "Don't know why, honestly. Clint told me to tell you."

He fiddled with one of his curls, shy. "Maybe you could have him get some sleep? He's ignoring me when I ask, and I don't wanna push him. I might lose control if I push him."

"I have complete faith in you, Bruce," Steve promised. "I know Tony's going through a lot. I'll come and see what I can do, though I can't promise much."

Bruce thought of all the Captain America merchandise Tony bragged about having and said nothing.

Steve followed him upstairs, letting Bruce open the door. He was baffled when JARVIS seemed surprised to see him; surely his presence wasn't unsurprising, considering how long he'd lived in the Tower? Was...was he not welcome?

"...Steve," Tony said, and the other man had to reconsider his anxieties at the sound of Tony saying his name. To hear Tony say his name was like coming home.

"Yes," Steve murmured. "Hi, Tony."

He paused, looking around the lab. Clint gestured to Bruce, backing off. The doctor nodded, following Clint's cues as both men watched Steve walk through the computer screens, observing with a heaviness to his curiosity.

"You've...made quite the beautiful future, Tony," Steve said. "I suppose I should congratulate you. You've done a lot in the past three months."

"Thanks," Tony mumbled, shrugging. "What'd you come up for? I figured this wasn't your thing."

"Well, you stopped coming down to see me," Steve said, keeping his voice level and pleasant. "I admit, I was worried. You haven't been eating dinner with the team. Or lunch. Or much  of anything."

He frowned, surveying Tony like a drill sargeant scrutinizing his recruits.

"When was the last time you slept?" Steve asked in a voice that demanded an answer. Tony flinched, squaring his shoulders.

"I don't know," he said, his voice tiny in contrast to his defiant positioning. "I forget."

"I figured," Steve said, his voice soft. "JARVIS?"

_"Seventy-four hours, sir."_

"I see," Steve said, his voice low. "Showered? Ate?"

 _"Stop asking me,_ " Tony snapped, "I don't _know,_ okay? There! There, you got what you wanted! Yell at me or laugh at me or do whatever it is you came in here to do, and then _leave me alone!"_

In response, Steve jumped over the table, light and easy on his feet, then pulled Tony into a tight embrace, threading his broad hand through Tony's hair.

"It's okay," Steve told him, his voice gentle. "You'll do it now. That's all. We'll worry about everything else later. I'm not here to yell at you or laugh at you. I'm here to make sure you're not alone."

Tony pressed his face into Steve's shoulder and closed his eyes.

"Tony," Steve murmured. "Oh, Tony. What am I going to do with you?"

"Put him to bed, Cap," Clint spoke up, his voice hesitant but firm. "Maybe a shower if he can stand upright that long. He needs some sleep. If...if you wanna go beyond that, I think you should probably talk to him after that, too."

Steve nodded, but Clint could tell he wasn't picking up on the exact specifics of what he meant. He sighed. Steve was a dom. Phil needed to handle that one on his own.

"I'll make sure he gets some sleep," Steve promised, his voice soft and sweet as he looked down at Tony. "Clint, do you mind staying in here to supervise Bruce?"

Clint couldn't help but smile. Oh, lord. He was going to be like this with everyone, it seemed.

"Right," he promised. "Not a problem. Bru?"

"Fine with me," Bruce said, fiddling with his hands. "Feel better, Tony. Please."

Tony nodded in his direction, his eyes already closing as they spoke. Clint would have to assume that was for the best. 

He let Steve lead him out, stroking his hair and murmuring to him as he slung Tony's arm over his shoulder, carrying him upstairs.

Clint and Bruce sat in the lab for awhile in silence as Bruce turned on the computers.

"You planned that," Bruce finally said.

Clint couldn't help but laugh, hefting himself up to sit beside the doctor and lay his head on his shoulder.

"I did," he replied with a cheshire grin. "I definitely did. I mean, hey, look at him. He needed it."

"He sort of does," Bruce said with a few thoughtful lines creasing his brow. "Clint? I have a question."

"Fire away, doc," Clint said, crossing his legs on the table. Bruce's face flushed pink.

"Err," he mumbled, "so. If...if you need that sort of...control and care sexually, I mean...is that...can you..."

Clint wondered vaguely how much a therapist would have a field day picking apart all of their brains. 

"Well, yeah," he replied. "That's part of it."

"Do you think...it would help, y'know...him?" Bruce asked, looking down at his hands and wringing them. Clint pulled them apart and rubbed his wrists, shushing him.

"Who knows?" He asked. "It sure as hell is worth a try, since we all seem to be kinky fucks in this place."

Bruce blushed, ducking his head to the side and sighing.

"I have a theory on that, actually," he replied, "but psychology's not my field, so it might not be perfect. I just think that, uh, people with...high-strung personalities like most of us...seek out people who are leaders, people in authority, that we can give our trust to. Because we're scared of ourselves, really scared. You know?"

"Plausible," Clint said with a shrug. "But I dunno. That's not the case with every relationship like this, you know what I mean? Sometimes it's just for fun, or control, or...y'know, stuff. Kinky stuff."

"Well, yes, but it would explain why most of us are into things like this," Bruce said, his face flushing. "You don't think I'm weird?"

"Doc, honest to god, this is the least weird thing about you," Clint promised him. "Mind if I talk to Phil about this? He might have some better answers for you about the whole 'control' thing."

"It...it's no problem," Bruce mumbled. "As long as it doesn't get beyond the two of you...?"

"Never, babe," Clint promised, patting the top of his curls. "Trust me, I'm not that kinda guy."

"Trust," Bruce repeated. "Right. Trust is important."

"Sure is," Clint agreed. "Isn't that why you're still here? 'Cause you trust us not to lock you up or experiment on you or slap you around?"

Bruce flinched, laying his head down on the worktable and shuddering, full-body tremors that had Clint hesitate for a moment. He didn't seem angry, though; just panicked. He had to at least try to calm him down.

"Well, remember that trust goes both ways, Bruce," Clint murmured, rubbing his neck with light, calloused fingers. "We trust you not to smash the place up or hurt anybody or lose your cool. So don't worry."

Bruce didn't look at him, but the shivers had stopped.

Clint made a show of leaving before promptly sneaking back around and perching on top of a table that Bruce had his back to and was situated neatly in the farthest corner of the lab. After all, Bruce needed his space, but he had promised Steve he'd watch over him.

...

Steve sighed, rubbing Tony's back as he opened his door, letting the other man sink onto his bed with a grateful sigh.

"You up for a shower?" Steve asked, keeping his voice gentle and low. The other man looked spooked enough by his presence as it was.

"...Yeah," Tony mumbled. "You...you're actually going to stay in here?"

"Would you like me to?" Steve asked.

"...Am I allowed to say yes, or..." Tony trailed off as Steve ruffled his hair.

"Yeah," he said. "It's not a trick, Tony. You can tell me you want me in here. I'd like to hear that. I really would."

"Great," Tony said, standing up on unsteady legs. "Mind making up the bed? I don't think I have the energy for that."

"No problem," Steve replied. "Do you need a pair of pajamas?"

Tony blinked, like he hadn't thought of that before. He nodded after a moment's pause.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess so. Second drawer on the left, the dresser with a mirror on it."

Steve nodded, helping him into the bathroom and closing the door before turning back to the bedroom.

"JARVIS, it's a bit cold in here," he said. "Temperature change, please?"

 _"The temperature is meant to drop today, I suppose. Certainly, Captain,"_ the AI replied. Steve heard a tiny whirr and sighed in relief.

"Thank you," he replied. "Now, as for the subject of pajamas..."

It felt oddly intimate to be picking out Tony's pajamas. He hoped the other man didn't mind. 

Steve selected a pair of red silk sleeping pants and a shirt with yet another band logo he didn't recognize emblazoned on it. However, that same logo was on about eighty of Tony's shirts, so he figured Tony wouldn't mind wearing it much.

He hummed quietly to himself as he paced around the room. JARVIS whirred, making him suddenly stop; the AI sounded amused.

 _"Captain, you are well within your rights to sit on the bed. Tony will not protest, I assure you,_ " he told him. Steve blushed.

"Right," he mumbled. "Well, it _is_ a big bed. I suppose there's no harm in it."

He settled in awkwardly, giving JARVIS a small smile. "Better?"

 _"Anthony will surely think so,_ " JARVIS replied. Steve had no idea why the AI sounded on the verge of laughing. Was he even programmed for that?

The water stopped, and Steve's diverging train of thought with it. He looked up, expectant, as Tony returned to the bedroom, rubbing at his eyes. He looked much better; clean-shaven, the random splotches of grease and oil cleaned from his face and hands, and his skin glistening with the remains of the shower.

"Welcome back," Steve said with a smile. "Uh, JARVIS said it was all right if I sat on the bed."

 _"Oh no, Captain. That was all of your own devious devising. Shame on you for implicating me in your schemes. I thought the emblem of the nation's glory would be better than_ _that, surely?_ " JARVIS replied.

Steve looked up at the ceiling, wide-eyed and frowning. 

"He's making fun of me, isn't he?" Steve said. "Tony, he's _definitely_ making fun of me. Why did you make an AI that could make fun of people?"

"He's based off my brain patterns," Tony mumbled, a grin spreading across his face at the Captain's confusion. "He's just teasing. It means he likes you."

"Oh," Steve said, suddenly growing serious. "I see. That's nice, then."

Tony nodded, not thinking of how he wasn't sure if he had been talking about JARVIS or himself for a moment.

"I'll sleep now," Tony said as he sank onto the bed. "Promise."

"Oh, I—oh, of course," Steve said, making to get up. "Should I go?"

"You don't have to," Tony said, too exhausted to form the words to make his real plea; _stay_ , his heart pounded, _stay with me._ "But...I'll probably be out for awhile."

"I'll go get my sketchbook," Steve replied, ruffling his hair as he placed another few blankets over his shoulders, tucking them up around his chin. "I'll be back in a few minutes, but don't worry about waiting up for me. You can see me again when you wake up."

Tony didn't even try to wait for him to return; his eyes were closed and he was asleep in a matter of seconds. It didn't make him worry much, though. If there was anyone who he trusted to be there when he woke up, it would be Steve.


	11. Prove Me Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve intervenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get back to the porn next chapter, I checked.  
> Also, sorry; I know I'm more noted for doing slowburn, (forty chapters and a 100k before they kissed in AatA), but like hell y'all are gonna wanna sit through that, right? The get-together is not the point of this fic, so. Enjoy!~

Steve sat beside him for a few hours, drawing aimless doodles that had him humming, content. He focused on nothing in particular; his subjects were simple, tiny sketches of the people he lived with. He shaded in the softness to Coulson's eyes, and the warmth of Pepper's freckles, and the sleekness in Natasha's hair, before idly shading little curls across Bruce's forehead, and a bright, brittle grin on Clint's face.

The only person he didn't draw was Tony. At least, not yet. 

Steve put his pencil down after a few hours, rubbing at his temples. Fatigue pounded at the base of his brain; surely Tony wouldn't mind if he slept? As long as he didn't leave, he didn't see why it would be a problem...

Steve scribbled a little note on his sketchbook; 'If I'm sleeping, wake me up when you're awake.' He smiled, pleased, and placed it on Tony's nightstand. That ought to be enough.

He settled in after that with a tiny yawn, laying his head down on one of Tony's thick, luxurious pillows and closing his eyes.

For a few hours, the two of them slept in peaceful silence. Nothing disturbed them; not the minor explosion in the lab upstairs, not dinner cooking downstairs, or the sound of people walking past their door, quietly speaking to one another. Not even the rumble of thunder, far above them, was enough to wake them.

When Tony stirred, he caught sight of a flash of gold before he saw anything else. He blinked once, twice, before promising himself it wasn't a dream. Steve was sleeping next to him.

He smiled, but there was confusion crinkling the corners of his eyes, making them sag. Why was Steve here? Why would he even sleep here with him?

Tony sat up, looking over at the sketchbook on his night-stand. He raised an eyebrow, taking it in his hands and tilting his head as he observed the sketches. Steve had been drawing everyone who currently lived at Stark Tower...except, well, him.

Tony frowned, rubbing his shoulder and shaking his head. He glanced down at the note on the corner of the sketchpad; Steve's neat, sharp handwriting told him to wake him up if he awoke.

Tony shook his head. That wasn't fair. The Captain needed his sleep, and he wasn't going to bother him. Besides...he sort of liked him here. If he woke up, he'd leave.

Tony went downstairs with the quietest tread he could manage, his footsteps soft as he headed into the dining room. Surely Phil would let him bring dinner up for them both...

...

Phil regarded Tony with a raised eyebrow when he stepped in, observing Tony as he headed for the fridge, rifling through it with measured, discreet rummaging.

"Tony," he said, wincing as the other man jumped, "is something the matter?"

Tony turned back to look at him and flashed him a disarming, broad smile. 

"No, no, it's fine, I was just, uh, looking for dinner. Steve's upstairs and I didn't want to disturb him, so I thought hey, maybe..." He trailed off with a shrug.

Phil nodded, tapping the pot on the stove. "I made noodles and sesame sauce for dinner, Tony. You're welcome to go eat dinner with him, so long as you're really going to eat."

"No, yeah, sure," Tony said, getting two bowls and putting them on a tray before gesturing to the table. "Bruce come down okay?"

"Yes, he did," Phil replied. "We all ate already, but I didn't think it would be a good idea to bother you. Besides, no offense, but bigger things happened."

Tony looked at the other man as he forked noodles into the bowls, noticing the tight, drawn look around his temples.

"What happened?" He asked. "I mean, are you okay?"

"Fine," Phil said, heaving a sigh. "Thor's home."

"Oh," Tony replied, trying not to laugh. "That's all?"

"Easy for you to say, you're not in charge," Phil grumbled. "He has news of Loki, too. It's probably important, but I've got other things to worry about at the moment."

"Like breathing into a paper bag," Tony teased. Phil rolled his eyes.

"Eat your dinner before I taser you, Stark," he said. "And make sure the Captain eats, too."

"Yeah, I will. You go deal with Thor, he's not my problem," Tony said, yawning before giving Phil a wide grin, climbing the stairs in time to miss Phil's muttered curses.

...

Steve sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looked over at the other side of the bed and sighed, hunching his shoulders as he saw the wrinkled blankets and empty sheets. He'd probably spooked Tony. How was he going to apologize now?

"Hey," a small voice said as the door swung open. "I made dinner."

Steve looked up to see Tony standing in the doorway, a tray with two bowls and glasses balanced on his arm. 

"Well, Phil did," Tony amended after a moment's pause. "But I poured the juice. And I put noodles in the bowls."

"Good for you, Tony," Steve said, and for a second, the other man bristled, until he realized he wasn't being made fun of. The smile on Steve's face gave it away. "Thanks for dinner. But..."

Tony flinched and looked away, hunching his shoulders. Steve's heart twinged with worry.

"But why didn't you wake me when you got up?" Steve asked, keeping his tone neutral. "I told you it was okay. I just got worried about where you went."

"M'sorry," Tony mumbled, hanging his head. "I didn't want to make you get up. I figured you were tired, that's all. I went to go get dinner instead."

"Well, that's certainly considerate of you," Steve said with a smile, pulling the blankets back around Tony's side of the bed. "Thanks, Tony. But don't worry about waking me up if you need something; it was just a nap."

Tony nodded, shuffling over to the bed and putting the tray down on Steve's side, sitting on the edge of the bed. Steve frowned, before shaking his head and patting the spot where Tony had slept.

"It's all right," he said, keeping his voice gentle. "Come sit here. Let's have dinner, Tony. You can't eat if you can't reach the bowl."

Tony nodded, swinging his legs over onto the bed and letting Steve put a bowl of noodles in his hands. His shoulders sunk as he sighed, settling in with a small smile and crossing his legs on the bed, turning the television on as Steve ate beside him, content.

...

After dinner, Steve asked, his voice timid and quiet, "Could I stay in here?"

"Dunno why you wanna, but sure," Tony agreed. "Movie okay?"

Steve relaxed immediately, beaming at him. 

"Sure, Tony," he replied. "I'd love to."

Tony almost felt guilty for his flippancy as he turned on the television. Still, the feeling was easily dismissed as he turned on the television, settling in with a yawn to watch. 

Steve sat beside him, and for the rest of the night, Tony lulled himself into a sense of ease. It felt good to sit next to Steve for simple things. Eating and watching television with his childhood hero-slash-crush made even the mundane seem wonderful, both peaceful and pleasant.

"Tony, why do you do this to yourself?"

The question knocked him right out of his sense of security. Steve seemed shocked he'd even asked. Tony stared at him, tilting his head. 

"Come again?" He asked. 

Giving Steve the moment to think it over was a bad idea, a fact Tony was only realizing now. His shock had given way to his genuine thoughts, and Tony could see him formulating a patented Captain America speech, the gears churning in his brain.

"You hurt yourself," Steve said, and Tony sighed, bracing himself for the speech. "You don't sleep, you don't eat, you don't talk to anyone for days on end, you don't talk to me, if you're working it's like you're not even here, and you just continue to let it happen! You drink, you fight with Pepper, you fight with JARVIS, you fight with Rhodey, you fight with me, and I know it's bothering you, but you won't ask for help, and you won't change! What's wrong, Tony?"

"Why the hell does that all mean something has to be wrong?" Tony demanded. Steve gave him a stern look.

"Tony, if you don't think that's something wrong, then—"

"It's just how it's always been," Tony said, waving him off. "I get by fine, I don't need you to intervene, Cap."

Steve's body shifted. He became more tense, regarding Tony with a new glint to his eyes. It stirred something hot and fierce in Tony, and he swallowed, edging away from the other man just enough to be subtle.

"Then maybe we have to change how it's always been," Steve said, his voice soft. He leaned in, subtle enough that Tony didn't try to back away until it was too late to do so, the other man cupping his cheek.

"Maybe I want to intervene, Tony," Steve murmured. 

Tony's entire world collapsed and was rebuilt in the span of a few words.

"You...no," he said. "Not you. Not with me. Not with all this."

"Yes, me," Steve confirmed, a bit of amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Yes, with you. And yes, with all this. I know you well enough by now, Tony, to know what I'm getting into. I'd like to think I've seen you at some major lows in your life, but I'd like to help you up and out of them now. But that's going to require some changes."

"Like?" Tony said, his throat dry and his heart pounding. Steve blushed.

"Err, I don't...actually know," he said. "But I'll talk to Phil in the morning. He's got a pretty good handle on Clint. I'm sure he'll be able to help."

Steve gave him a small, shy grin. "For now, though, uh...can I give you a kiss? Y'know, like an IOU?"

Tony nodded, too rattled to do much else. Steve beamed, pulling him in close. 

With anyone else, he would've dominated the kiss, let him come to them. This time, though, Tony wanted to be the one who was brought in, who came to receive a touch, a kiss, an embrace and a promise of safety. 

Steve knew. He always knew. It was like he knew Tony as well as he knew him, though Steve didn't have years of film reels, parental stories, and a well-tended unhealthy obsession to nurture his knowledge.

Regardless, Steve kissed like someone ripped from a romance novel; he never pressed hard enough against Tony's lips to bruise, and he stroked his hair with gentle affection as he tilted Tony's head back just enough to slip his tongue into his mouth.

He only kissed him that way for the briefest of moments, as if embarrassed; Tony nuzzled into his touch and grinned, giddy with delight. He didn't protest; how could he? Steve had kissed him.

"I don't know how," Steve murmured, "but I'm going to take care of you from now on. I'll be a good boyfriend, Tony. I've always wanted that."

"With me?" Tony mumbled as Steve stroked his hair, tucking him back beneath the covers and settling him in bed before he even realized what was going on. Steve smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

"For as long as I've known you," he promised. "You get some rest, Tony. I'm not going anywhere. Not for anything."

Tony believed him. As ludicrous as this all was, as much as he wanted to protest, convince Steve he had the wrong idea, the wrong guy...when he said that, he believed him.

Tony was asleep before self-doubt could trickle in, like an unwelcome flood. Steve's strong arm, warm and tight as he held him close against the other man's broad chest, certainly helped.


	12. Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets a reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to the Phil/Clint porn. uwu You're welcome~!  
> The blindfold will be important later. Promise.

While Steve tucked Tony in, Phil showered Clint not more than a few floors above them. He ran a soapy washcloth all along Clint's back, tracing hard lines of muscle and the stark outline of his shoulderblades, before reaching down to stroke around the soft swell of his ass, teasingly drumming his fingers along the skin to make Clint giggle. He leaned against the cool tile wall, arching his back into Phil's touch and moaning quietly when Phil's fingers slipped down, reaching between his legs.

"S-sir, please don't tease," Clint murmured, curling his toes and clinging to the tile. Phil smiled.

"Teasing, princess? Oh, no. You've got it all wrong, sweetheart. You're going to get a reward tonight. You did excellently today," Phil said. "Tony came down to see me, and he looked much better. Wasn't that your doing?"

"Yeah, but Steve's the one who took care of him," Clint replied. Phil huffed and kissed his neck.

"Ah, princess, love, don't be so embarrassed about accepting a reward," he reminded him. Clint shrugged, hunching his shoulders and leaning his head against the tile as Phil scrubbed him clean.

"You're fine," he promised. "You did better than fine, in fact. Clint, you're so eager to accept punishment, to own up to what you've done wrong and apologize, and that's good. You're my good boy, princess, and I'm very proud of you for knowing when you need to behave better."

Coulson scrubbed him down and wrapped him in a towel, bringing Clint out into their bedroom and kissing his forehead as Clint shivered, still damp.

"But princess, when you do well, you need to remember that too," Phil reminded him. "You earn both rewards and punishments. And both are given with love, Clint. You're okay. You're wonderful, fantastic, beautiful. Don't be so scared of admitting your success."

"Okay, sir," Clint murmured. "Sorry, sir. Do I need to be punished for that?"

"Absolutely not, Clint," Phil told him, cupping his cheek. "Sometimes we have learning experiences, you and I. Even when one of us messes up one of those, we forgive each other and we learn from it. Those aren't times for punishment, princess."

"Right," Clint apologized, nuzzling his neck. "Uh, I..."

"Ssh, no more sorries," Phil cut him off, kissing his neck, his lips making little slick sounds of pleasure that made Clint moan. "You get your reward, princess. The reward you want."

He kissed Clint, slow and wet, the two of them still fresh and damp from the shower as they kissed, shampoo's sweet tang blending around them both, wet hair meeting warm fingers as they touched and kissed one another, entangled in the sheets.

"What do you want me to do, princess?" Phil asked. Clint blushed.

"Um, the thing you said before, sir," he mumbled, not meeting his eyes. Phil chuckled, stroking his hair.

"I need you to be a little more specific, princess," he reminded him. "Remember, Clint, there's no need to be embarrassed. If you trust me, you can tell me. And I believe with all my heart that you trust me."

"I do, sir," Clint promised. "I, uh, I...gimme a sec, okay?"

"Okay," Phil agreed. He rubbed Clint's shoulders and kissed at his neck while he straddled him, his touch careful but firm, his every movement hinging on Clint's reply, eager.

"Sir, I, uh...I want...more of you, sir," Clint mumbled. "I mean, uh, more of your...more of your come, sir. I f-feel bad that I didn't ever...I mean, when we started all this, you only came that one time, and I..."

"Clint, you've more than made up for any lack of orgasm on my part," Phil promised, ruffling his hair. "It's not something you're required to give me. I was focused on your pleasure, and what you needed and wanted, as my submissive. It was my choice not to come, Clint."

"I, uh—but—" Clint shook his head, hedging. "Are you sure? Barney said that's not how it worked."

The more Clint elaborated on his brother, the more Phil's urge to kill him intensified.

"Yes, princess, I'm completely sure," he promised him. "Clint, your reward has to be pleasure for you. It's what you deserve."

"Uh, but, I—oh, god, Phil," Clint said, burying his face into the other man's neck. "No, sir, I swear t'god, sir, I really want it, please..."

"What, love? You need to tell me exactly what you want," Phil said, a little devious grin on his face as he felt Clint's cock throbbing beneath him. "How can I give my beautiful princess his perfect reward if he doesn't tell me just what he likes?"

"I want your come, sir," Clint begged. "Please, sir, I want you to come in me until you can't anymore, I wanna be _full_ , sir, really full, and I want—I want you to plug me up, sir. Please, please. I love your cock, Phil, I love it so much, but I can't—it can't stay in me forever...s-so I want your come. Please."

Phil swallowed, stroking Clint's hair in a slowly-failing bid to control himself. His cock throbbed and ached as he kissed Clint's shoulder.

"Okay," he agreed. "Anything else, princess?"

"I wanna be tied up a bit, please," Clint asked. "I...could we maybe try the blindfold, too?"

"Clint, that scares you too much," Phil murmured. "I don't want this to hurt you or scare you."

"No, I mean, I thought about it—and I thought, maybe, if _I_ was doing some stuff to _you_ while I was blindfolded, it might—might help?" Clint offered, tilting his head. Phil nodded.

"Maybe," he agreed, "but please, Clint, the last thing I want is to frighten you or hurt you with something new when you're getting a reward. Let's wait until later, for both our sakes?"

"...Fine," Clint replied, nuzzling him. "Only for you, Phil."

He kissed his cheek and grinned, hesitant. "Uh, but, uhm...could you still tie me up please, sir?"

"I'd love to, Clint," Phil promised. "I'll go get your cuffs. You get into a comfy position where I can stay in you, and you wait. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Clint agreed, scrambling to do as Phil asked while his lover went to their closet, opening it up and taking out the box of toys they shared.

There wasn't much; Phil wasn't big on fancy toys, and Clint was more than happy with the simple things, but he'd purchased a few things as a gift. He rifled through them, taking out a subtle, small plug, (Clint would be wearing this tomorrow, he assumed, and the _last_ thing he needed was one of the others finding out about the nature of their relationship through a plug in his lover's ass), and his normal cuffs, the D-rings jangling as he walked back over to the bed.

"Arms and legs up, princess," Phil ordered, and Clint obeyed without a second's hesitation. Phil patted his hip to show approval before binding his wrists together, looping a leather thong around a slat in the headboard to hold them in place above his head.

"Legs tied or not tonight, princess?" Phil asked. Clint tilted his head.

"Um, not now, but if I get tired?" He asked. Phil nodded, crawling up the bed to cover Clint's body with his own, kissing his earlobe and nipping gently at it.

"Sure, princess," he said. "Tell me when you do. For now, let me just prep you..."

He put the plug where Clint could see it and shiver in anticipation before rifling through their nightstand for the lube.

Clint whined, a tight grin on his face that changed to a groan as soon as Phil slipped his first finger in, careful and attentive as he kept one hand on Clint's cock and one hand to stretch him out. He wanted to be as gentle as he could and take Clint's mind off the burn between his legs, but the little yips of pain only intensified when Phil added a second finger.

He frowned, slicked his hand up in more lube, and stroked even more slowly now, prepping Clint as slowly as he possibly could. He was careful and steady, making Clint keen and cry out as he rubbed the sensitive ring of muscle and thumbed at his tip, before finally pressing against the little bundle of nerves that made Clint twitch and moan.

"God, oh, uh, I—sir, sir, please sir, _please sir_ , I—oh, Phil, _Phil!"_ Clint groaned, his arms straining as he tried in vain to reach out and grasp him, to kiss and touch him. Phil smiled, satisfied, and reached up to press a teasing kiss to Clint's wrists before going back to his work.

"You're a sadist," Clint groaned, but there was a grin on his face as Phil continued to work his fingers in and out of him, gentle. "Please, h-hurry. I w-want your come, sir, so much, so _much_..."

"I know," Phil said, "but think of this as another teaching experience. Patience, Clint. Patience, steady...ssh, love, ssh..."

Clint whined and groaned and cried out for another ten minutes as Phil prepped him. He was almost tempted to order Clint's silence, but it was his night for a reward, and, more selfishly, the little pleas and whines went right to his groin as his fingers slipped in and out.

Finally, mercifully, Phil slipped his fingers out and gave Clint's cheek a tender little kiss as he cleaned his hand of lube. Clint looked up at him, hopeful; Phil smiled, ruffling his hair.

"Oh, princess," he murmured. "Good boy. You've been so good. You'll get your reward, I promise. Just one more time, princess. Ask for it."

 _"Please,_ " Clint said, and it was more magic than he'd imagined. Phil was on him in a heartbeat, unable to restrain himself from the utter delight that was his submissive's warmth, tight and burning, a way to tie them both together as he held onto Clint, kissing the juncture between his neck and his shoulder to mark claims all up and along his skin.

Phil's cock made his tight hole ache; Clint winced, shifting a bit as Phil stroked his hair. 

"Oh, ssh princess, I'll go slow," Phil promised. "You're being such a good boy. You poor dear, you're sore, aren't you? Ssh, it's all right. Take deep breaths. I'm right here, princess. You're going to be okay."

He slowed down, holding onto Clint with warm, careful hands as the archer moaned, panting and rubbing himself against Phil. The way his cock caught against Phil's chest made him whimper and moan with delight.

"Aah, sir," he panted. "Better. Please go faster, I want you all the way in me..."

"Of course, princess," Phil promised, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "Anything for you, my little princess. Anything my darling little pet desires."

Clint moaned and mewled as Phil teased him, pushing into him and playing with his penis, light, delicate little touches that kept him on the edge as Phil took his pleasure within him, firm and steady in his thrusts.

It felt good to have his master doing this; better than Clint had imagined. He'd never asked Coulson to fill him up before, but he couldn't understand why. The thought of having Phil's come in him had Clint's toes curling and his breath hitching in anticipation alone.

Clint cried out when Phil came in him the first time, absolutely wrecked by the feeling of warmth that flooded him. Phil's come was slick around his entrance and in his ass and burning on his thighs, and it made him quiver as Phil pulled out, plugged Clint up, and gave him a kiss with unsteady lips.

"Sweetheart," Phil asked, running a few knuckles down Clint's face as gently as he could, "would you like me to put your ring on until I'm done? I don't know if you want to come every time I do, princess."

"I, uh," Clint tilted his head. "I don't know, sir..."

He averted his gaze and sighed.

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled. "Times like this...when you're so good to me, and you give me whatever I want...I realize I still don't know what that is, sir. I...I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Phil soothed him, rubbing behind his ears and kissing the hollow of his neck before sitting up to straddle him. He stroked Clint's hair, slow and easy until Clint fell apart beneath his touch, utterly at ease. When he didn't so much as twitch when Phil put a hand over his eyes, he knew he was ready to continue the discussion.

He lifted his hand away and moved it to Clint's cheek before he continued.

"You're okay, sweetheart. You just need to keep learning. That's what I'm here for; that's why we're together. You're learning what you want under my control, so you're safe while you do. You're good, Clint. You're gonna be just fine. Promise me you'll let yourself move slowly while we get through this. There's no need to rush learning, Clint,"

Coulson told him, leaning in for a quick kiss, pressing his lips to Clint's forehead.

"You don't need to hurry," Coulson repeated, running his knuckles along Clint's jawline before pressing a kiss to his forehead once more. "I'm not going anywhere. I intend to spend the rest of my life with you, Clint Francis Barton. A few years of working out what you want isn't much."

Clint couldn't see. For a second, pure, abject terror lanced him; then he realized he wasn't blinded. He was just crying.

"I—It'd be an honor, sir," he mumbled. "More'n I deserve."

Phil's eyes were soft and sad when he tipped Clint's head up to meet his gaze.

"Not really, princess," he murmured. "But you've still got to learn that, I see."

He leaned in and gave him a slow, demanding kiss; he suckled at Clint's lips, worried his bottom lip, and inhaled all Clint had to give him, as if he intended to breathe in the finer points of Clint Barton and catalogue them for himself.

"For now, let me take control of this," he said, "and teach you what you need to know."

He got up and rifled through their box of toys for a cock ring; when he found one, simple and black save for the little amethysts that formed an arrow shape on it, he smiled and held it up for Clint to see before crossing the room and kneeling down on the bed, leaning over Clint as he slipped the ring over the erect head of his cock. 

It caught some of his pre-come, dragging the fluid down with it and easing its journey to fit, snug and warm, around the base of Clint's penis. Coulson rubbed the head before leaning in to nip at Clint's neck. His lover whimpered; Coulson simply smiled.

"Right," he murmured. "How do you feel, princess?"

"Safe, sir," Clint replied, his voice barely above a gasp. 

Phil nodded. It was all he needed to hear.

He held Clint's legs up, letting his lover drape them over his shoulders, before grasping his hips and setting out to fuck him in earnest.

For a little while, Phil did just that; he came twice more, with little breaks in between to gentle and kiss Clint, promising him peaceful dates in the park with a picnic basket and a long walk through the city afterwards.

When his voice wore down, he took Clint's hands and touched them, carefully observing them and covering them with kisses, murmuring soft praise and appreciation of every inch of skin his lips and fingers touched.

Truthfully, he wouldn't have had the energy for the next two rounds if he hadn't worshipped Clint like that; spoiling and praising his sub had gotten him hard beyond belief, even moreso than it normally did. 

Gentling Clint and nurturing him usually turned him on, but, as he thought about it, slipping off Clint's cock ring, this was the first time Clint had been so relaxed, so _receptive._ He normally shied away from even the mildest of nuturing, loving touches; even when he relaxed enough to allow them, Phil could see it was toleration at best.

This was acceptance; complete and utter acceptance. And aside from that...it was delight. Clint welcomed his touch, welcomed his praise; he wanted to be spoiled. He wasn't scared anymore. Even if he didn't realize all of those things yet.

Coulson gave him a slow kiss until his entire body screamed he had to breathe. Even then, he pulled away with the sincerest regret, kissing and sucking at Clint's neck before he got up, grabbing another bind to tie Clint's legs and let him relax. His entire body was quivering; Phil got a small, raspy _"Thank you, sir,"_ as he bound him. 

"You're all right, princess," Phil promised. "I love you, Clint. You'll be okay. Hold still, princess. I'm going to make this good for you. This is your pleasure, princess; your reward."

Clint moaned when Phil finally unplugged him, one last time before thrusting right in, eager to finish for the night. He was more eager for the feel of Clint's come than he'd realized; he couldn't help but smile at the fact that he and his submissive's desires were so in sync.

Clint didn't take long; Phil thrust perhaps twice before he was coming, coating his stomach and Phil's, spurting onto his chest and up on his jawline in steady streams. Phil milked him, pumping him eagerly and getting every drop he could from Clint, the two of them slick and messy as he heard Clint scream, as if in a race to see if he himself or his dominant could make him go raw first.

Phil coaxed all the semen from Clint that he possibly could, before coming into him one last time with a low, pleased moan, and a whisper of Clint's name. He pulled himself from Clint, aware of the steady, satisfying ache in his hips as he plugged Clint's hole up with shaking fingers. 

He was steady as he caressed him, however, and it made Clint relax as Phil wiped his hand in his cooling come and offered him a taste. His tongue laved over his fingers and palm, clumsy but eager until Phil's hand glistened, clean. 

He kissed Clint once before getting up to get a towel, mopping himself off in the bathroom before coming to do the same for Clint, undoing his bonds and rubbing his back as he cleaned him, tender and attentive. 

After Clint was clean, Phil finished with his favorite part of aftercare; he climbed into bed, spooning Clint and wrapping his arms around him as he whispered love and praise into his ear. He didn't stop until Clint's eyelids fell shut with a flutter, heavy with the need for sleep.

"Mhhn," Clint grunted agreeably, reduced to the level of little broken noises when Phil rolled him out of the way of the soiled blanket, adjusting his lover so he fit perfectly into his embrace.

"I love you too, princess," Phil murmured, kissing his shoulder. "Did you like your reward?"

 _"Mnhnm._ "

Phil smiled.

"Then we'll have to do this more often," he said, tossing the messy blanket aside and pulling their clean one up and over them. "Sweet dreams, my little boy. You behaved so well tonight."

Clint's only response was a pleased little rumble, but it soothed Coulson to sleep all the same.


	13. Speak Like a Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce talks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things; first, I am officially open for commissions! uwu  
> The link is http://assistedrealityinterface.tumblr.com/post/56169316904/commission-post here. <3 All the info's there, too!  
> Okay, next thing. I'm sorry this isn't 100% Phil/Clint anymore, I accidentally somewhat of a story arc and stuff. So, uh, don't worry. They're the main pairing but, yeah.  
> Wait, there's a third thing, sorry!  
> Soooo I really like the idea that had Loki returned to Asgard he would've been hailed a hero due to his actions fighting the Jotun, because all of Asgard wanted them dead anyway, and Thor's sudden epiphany was not endemic to all Asgardians. And so here we are. uwu

While the night waned on agreeably for the other couples enjoying their time upstairs, Bruce found himself considerably less lucky. 

He shifted from foot to foot and regarded the man in front of him the way a deer would regard a hunter; his eyes were wide, and his chest ached from the beating his heart was giving it. 

Thor was _huge_. Too big. Hurting big. His hands could choke him, break his glasses and threaten to grind the lenses into his eyes, break his legs and make him cry. He was _big_. Dad-big. _Hurting-big._

But Coulson had asked him to make sure he was okay, and disobeying an order was a scarier thought than confronting hurting. He understood hurting. Punishment was the great, horrible unknown, the knife-edge he always teetered on.

"You are frightened of me," Thor murmured. It wasn't a question.

Bruce opened his mouth to speak and only managed a whimper.

He willed his heart to stop beating, his ribs to clamp it still, for his hands to stop shaking in their sockets. He had to speak. He had to say something.

"Not scared," he said, punctuating his words with a panicked little laugh. "Haven't you h-heard? I'm the, uh, strongest...strongest one there is."

Thor regarded him for a second before shaking his head and smiling. Bruce cringed, anticipating the inevitable mocking.

"I suppose you must be," he agreed, "for you have stood here despite your fear, and you have yet to run."

"It's not you," Bruce said, shaking his head. "I, uh, sorry. It's really not you."

"That is worrying," Thor replied. "If it was simply my presence, I could alleviate this fear somewhat. But if your discomfort lies in a foe long gone...I do not believe I can fight that."

He frowned, considering. "I could make a solid effort, should you wish."

Bruce laughed; it was rusty and ragged with lack of use, but genuine. 

"I'm fine," he said. "Don't worry about me. People only do that when I get big and green." 

Thor fell silent, observing him. Bruce swallowed, suddenly aware of his complete and utter stupidity. It stood to reason, of course; he could barely communicate with human beings. Even small talk with a Norse god was too much.

He gestured vaguely about him for a moment before wringing his hands, his wrist bones cracking in their joints. Thor frowned.

"You should not cause yourself such pain," he said. "I can hear your bones shift from here."

"It's just, uh, routine chiropractic...stuff. I mean, I'm not that kind of doctor, but carpal tunnel is common among researchers, I mean, uh. I'm fine, really," Bruce finished. "I, uh—how was the trip?"

Thor sunk into his seat and closed his eyes, massaging his temples.

"The people think my brother a hero," he said, "for killing the hated Jotun, and slaughtering their king; something not even my father was able to do. He, for his part, cannot stand to look at any of them. He knows what he is, and he hates himself for it. He has not left his quarters since I forced him to remain on Asgard and repair the bridge. This has only won him more acclaim; my attempts to destroy it seen as reckless, foolish bravery at best."

"So, um, not good, then," Bruce said. "Isn't your father angry?"

"He is...conflicted," Thor replied. "Conflicted and sorrowful, to say the least. He blames himself for at least half of the outcome. My mother will hear nothing against Loki; she is the only one allowed in his quarters apart from myself. And so I suppose his punishment is being lauded for the destruction of his own people. Sufficient, perhaps."

"That doesn't explain why you returned," Bruce said. "What brought you back?"

"I thought returning to my friends upon Midgard would be more pleasant than remaining at home, currently," Thor replied. "My mother grieves at having almost lost her two sons, my father has gone mad with guilt, and my brother, mad with vengeance and betrayal. I simply wished to be among people who were not so lost in their mistakes."

Bruce started to laugh and found, horrified, that he could not stop. For a good five minutes or more, he laughed, utterly and completely helpless to stop himself.

"Oh, _god_ ," he said, shaking his head and wiping tears from his eyes. "Oh, _Thor_. You came to the wrong place if that's what you wanted. Even if we're just talking about _me_ , I am ninety percent made of mistakes. Maybe ninety-five. We have to leave room for a margin of error."

Thor shook his head. "Nay, Bruce. I came to the only place I could find myself comfortable. I am not entirely blameless or free of sins; it is only here, however, rather than at home, that I find myself surrounded by people who have moved on from their mistakes and sought to do some good with what they possess."

He sighed and gave the other man a warm, dazzling smile. Bruce's stomach grew tight, and he swallowed. No wonder he'd managed to convince Jane Foster to help him.

"Forgive me," he said. "I must not have been clear. It is not mistakes I wish to avoid; they are a fact of life for men and gods alike. It is people who have yet to move beyond them. I am the sky, Bruce, and all the storms within it. I cannot be clouded by mistakes. Else where would I find the sun?"

Bruce licked his lips and shrugged his shoulders. He found that he had stopped edging towards the door and had, however hesitant, actually inched a few steps forward.

"That's...awfully poetic of you," he said. "You're a lot smarter than I expected you to be from Phil's stories."

"Many years spent with tutors," Thor said with a wry grin. "Schooling was always my brother's pleasure, but we spent enough time together that it was bound to rub off on me as well."

He sighed and stood. "I will have to fill the Son of Coul in on all of this tomorrow; for now, I would like to rest. It has been a stressful time in the palace as of late."

"I can imagine," Bruce agreed. "Tony had a floor built for you; I can take you up."

"But the trip back downstairs will leave you unaccompanied," Thor protested, "and this late at night, as well! I do not think it right, Bruce, it—"

Bruce bristled without thinking, despite seeing those hands before him, enormous and golden and perfectly capable of wrenching his shoulder from his socket again. The thought of being regarded as just another weapon  _again,_ here of all places, made him react without thinking.

"I've been here for _months_ ," he said, "and I haven't hurt anyone. I _won't_. I'm not dangerous. I'm _not."_

Thor stared at him, head tilted and huge blue eyes wide. 

"I do not understand," he said. "Of which weapon do we speak?"

Bruce laughed, short and hollow, easily broken. 

"Me," he said. "Or have you not been told?"

Thor gave him a long, slow look that Bruce, for all his skill at predicting emotions and knowing what people thought of when they looked at him, simply did not understand.

"I simply meant it is untoward to allow you to go unaccompanied to your quarters. Generally, honor bids me to escort you," Thor explained. "Should someone attack, you would be defenseless."

The idea of someone thinking of him as defenseless and vulnerable ripped away at walls Bruce hadn't realized he'd built around himself.

"I—" He stopped, swallowing.

"God, that...okay," he said. "Right. Okay. Give me a second."

He swallowed again, breathing heavily as he ran a hand through his curls. "Right. So, compromise. I'll—"

"It is a whole floor," Thor said, his voice pleasant. "You shall stay in my quarters."

_Jesus._

"Well, I—"

"If it is not to your liking, I would be fine with sleeping in yours," Thor promised, like he was trying to help.

Bruce was going to have a _long_ talk with Phil. If he was taking cues from his boyfriend when it came to setting people up, the other guy might have a talk with Clint, too.

"No, it's fine," he said, vaguely aware that this was the first fight he'd lost in years, "let's just...go upstairs."

Thor nodded, his shoulders relaxed as he beamed, allowing Bruce to lead him upstairs and show him how the elevator worked. This gave him more than enough time to contemplate where, exactly, all this had gone pear-shaped, and how.

It wasn't as unpleasant as he thought it would be, despite his misgivings. Thor bade him goodnight, bowing to him before he left, and even the spare room on his floor was comfy. (Though, to be fair, before he'd moved into the Tower, his life's prior idea of comfortable had been a mat or blanket between him and the floor.)

Bruce fell asleep with a sudden burst of realizaton punctuating his final thought; this was the first time in a long time he'd slept feeling entirely at ease. Whatever fears he'd had about his place in the Tower and what the others would think of him had been calmed, even if just for the night.

He fell asleep smiling at the thought.


	14. Pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be a lot of Tony/Clint feels next chapter if this one isn't your cup of tea, just so you know. uwu  
> Now, while I know Thor's not incompetent, he's also a spoiled prince; no one ever asked him to cook a dang thing, so there's that to keep in mind. uwu

The next morning, Bruce managed to bolt downstairs before anyone else was awake; Thor had beat him downstairs, but he was making breakfast, and hopefully no one would put two and two together enough to gossip. He wanted to believe these people wouldn't be cruel to him more than anything in the world.

"Good morning," Thor said, poking the lumpy beige mixture before him with a frown. "I am glad you rested well. I did not wish to wake you when I arose; you had bags beneath your eyes last night. Fights long fought, I presume."

He gestured to the bowl he was standing before, his frown growing deeper. "Might I ask you to make sense of this? Darcy and Jane took me for pancakes previously, and we do not have them on Asgard. I have been eager to try them again since I have left. My skills as a chef, however, seem less eager to face the task."

Bruce smiled despite himself, shaking his head and huffing as he padded across the floor, coming to stand beside Thor and holding the bowl.

"Okay, first," he said, "you left the eggs in their shells. So...we should probably start again from scratch."

"Mother cooks," Thor mumbled, the barest hint of a pout on his face. "And if she does not cook, the kitchens provide. I can hunt and prepare meat; surely that is something?"

"Sure is," Bruce agreed, shaking his head. "You don't need to impress me, you know. Really, honest. We can start over."

"Very well," Thor said, settling into a kitchen chair and regarding him with bright, expectant eyes. "Show me."

The only reason it wasn't a blatant order was the soft way he said it. The words sent lightning down Bruce's spine nonetheless.

"Right," he replied, rifling through the cabinets with JARVIS' instruction. "Well, uh, I can do that..."

He explained every step as he went through it; making pancakes was simple, and explaining it was easy. Bruce enjoyed having people listen to him when he explained things; he liked teaching, but admitted that thermodynamics, gamma rays, nuclear physics, and the degrees and uses of radiation were not exactly everyone's cup of tea.

Regardless, Thor hung onto his every word as he continued on, explaining the way he made his pancakes and showing him how to cook them properly. He made an experimental one, the butter hissing on the pan as he handed half of it to Thor.

"Okay, let me know if it worked," he said. "If it did, you can make the next one."

Thor ate it in two bites before looking up at him, wide-eyed.

"You are a genius," he told him. Bruce laughed.

"Err, not for this. But...thank you," he said. "Want to take a shot at it?"

"Certainly," Thor said, putting a hand on his shoulder without seeing how Bruce twitched and shuddered, tensing up. "You will sit. You have worked enough this morning."

Thor guided him into a chair and settled him in. If he felt how Bruce shook beneath his fingertips, he did not speak of it. 

Tony and Steve came downstairs next; Tony stole a look at Thor, and then gave Bruce a huge grin.

Bruce muttered something impolite in Hindi that just made Tony laugh, settling in across from his friend as Steve ruffled his hair.

"Do you want me to make coffee, Tony?" Steve asked. Tony shrugged.

"Hey, don't worry about it, I will," he said, going to get up. "Just let me—"

"Let me rephrase that," Steve said, stroking Tony's hair again. "I want to make you coffee, Tony. What do you take in it?"

Tony sighed, but didn't argue further. 

"Two sugars, hazelnut, dark," he grumbled. "Look, can't I make yours? Fair trade? I'm a businessman. We're all about that. In theory, anyway."

"I can make my own," Steve said, keeping his voice pleasant. "Morning, Bruce. Morning, Thor. Making breakfast?"

"Aye," Thor replied. The two of them shared a look of mutual understanding. Tony had a sneaking suspicion it was not about the pancakes.

"So, where's Pepper?" Tony asked. "You two see her?"

Bruce shook her head. Thor nodded, gesturing to the counter.

"She left you a note," he explained. "She wished to go see to her affairs at work. She will be back to confer with you shortly on something."

"Christ, she's been spending too much time at the office lately," Tony said with a frown. "I'm taking the company back if she's going to lose her shit over it. I don't like seeing her like this."

"And you're allowed to work yourself half to death?" Steve said, his voice mild as he set the mugs down with a clink. Bruce blinked, baffled, as Steve put one down in front of him.

"I'm not as bad as she is!" Tony protested. "Besides, I'm doing genius work. She's doing paperwork work. Those are two different things, and only one of them is fun."

"I didn't know what you took in it, but I did make it decaf," Steve said, cutting Tony's protests off as he regarded Bruce warmly. "Why don't you let Thor know? He's near the fridge."

Bruce had the sneaking suspicion he was being played for a fool in all this. Whatever 'this' _was,_ though, he wasn't quite sure yet. He _would_ find out, though, and the second he did...

Well, he might sulk for a bit. But he didn't want to make them angry. They actually liked him.

Bruce huffed, telling Thor, "Just, um, sugar and whatever creamers are in the fridge, I'm not picky."

He had every single bottle of creamer out in front of him five seconds later, along with an enormous bag of sugar.

...Whatever game they were playing wasn't all that bad, upon thinking it over.

Bruce stirred his coffee with a smile, watching as Thor finished up the pancakes.

...

Clint and Phil came downstairs just as Thor had finished piling the pancakes on a plate, and Bruce had set the table. He greeted them both with a hesitant smile.

"Uh, hey," he said. "Good morning. I set places for you two; I figured you'd be down."

"Thanks, babe," Clint said, settling into his seat. Phil felt bad for the little thrill that raced up his spine as Clint jumped, starting abruptly before gingerly re-settling into his seat.

"I didn't want him to miss breakfast, yes," Phil agreed as he sat down across from him. "Thank you for making it, Thor. It's good to have you back."

"'Tis good to be back, Philip," Thor said, his voice warm. "I have missed Midgard greatly, and my comrades as well. How fares everyone else?"

"Pretty good, actually," Clint said with a yawn. "Things are sort of settling in. Occassional clusterfucks in Times Square aside, we're okay on the supervillain front, too."

Tony just grinned, and the under-the-table squeeze of Steve's hand was enough answer for them both. 

"I..I...things are nice," Bruce mumbled. "Better than usual, actually. It's...good."

"It is," Thor agreed, giving him a considering look. "I am glad, Bruce."

They all settled in for breakfast without another word. Bruce didn't look up at any of them as he ate, his face tinged slightly pink as his hands shook. 

The other four men glanced at one another and decided to let the two of them have it out on their own for the day.

Besides, there were conversations they needed to have for themselves today, if the sudden relationship upgrade was any indication.

Phil was the first to leave the dining room, Steve following after; Clint hurried after his lover while Tony was the last to leave. He didn't exactly want to leave Bruce, not looking so much like a cornered, wounded animal as he did, but he could only hope it might end up in something good for him. If all else failed, JARVIS would let him know if he was in danger or anything like that.

"Be good, puppy," Tony said, ruffling Bruce's hair and leaving. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Puppy?" Thor said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Bruce ducked his head, his face smarting.

"Ignore him, he's being an idiot," Bruce mumbled. "Want me to help you clean up?"

"Certainly," Thor agreed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Don't worry about me. I told you last night."

"I am not always fond of orders," Thor replied, standing up and clearing the table. Bruce couldn't help but laugh a bit, nervous, as Thor finished clearing it before he could even grab a cup.

"I, er, you're not really leaving much for me to...y'know," Bruce hedged. Thor looked at him, baffled.

"There is a mug," he said, gesturing to the sole mug sitting on the table as he put the rest of the plates and forks into the dishwasher, along with the other mugs. "You may wash that if you are so intent on working."

"You are _ridiculous_ ," Bruce mumbled, unaware of how much he'd insulted the other man until he realized how casual he'd suddenly become with him. His shoulders hunched and he cringed immediately, his entire body shivering with apology and fear.

"Perhaps," Thor agreed warmly, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it lightly as he reached around him to take the mug while Bruce was distracted. "I have not often worried about such things."

Bruce didn't even have time to protest before Thor had finished clearing the table in its entirety and stood before him beaming, as if expecting praise. He reminded Bruce more of a large, sweet puppy in that moment than a Norse god.

"Well, uh," he said, "then...well, it's all clean, I guess. What...what are we going to do now?"

"I am unsure," Thor agreed. "The others appear to be busy. If you wish, I will accompany you somewhere? We might explore."

"I, uh, oh—I don't, uh, go out," Bruce said. "I'm...dangerous. And this isn't a good place for me to be around people. Well, uh, no place is, but especially this one. I mean."

Thor's eyes softened, and filled with a heavy sort of sorrow as he met his gaze.

"Oh, Bruce," Thor said. "Well then; accompany me. I do not know my way around. I could use the aid of someone more well-versed in the city."

There he went again with the not-quite orders. Bruce shivered despite himself.

He opened his mouth to refuse and found himself saying, "Sure. Let's just, uh, go get something else on. Pajamas are a bit too uncouth, wouldn't you say?"

He wanted to take it all back, but Thor's warm, sweet laugh stopped him. He just sighed and went upstairs to change, noting wryly that the more time he spent around Thor, the more things seemed to enjoy getting unpredictable.


	15. Subtalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Clint talk about what it means to be a sub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussion of what basically amounts to abuse masquerading as BDSM. See also, why your friendly neighborhood author thinks 50 Shades can go eat a fuck. And also some discussion of anxiety and self-harm.  
> Also a little hint of Clint's backstory too! uwu

Tony sighed and sat next to Clint in the lab, drumming his fingers on the table. Clint was quiet and patient, sitting beside him and allowing him a few minutes to put his thoughts together. Dummy wheeled past and bumped his claw-head into Clint's shoulder in greeting. Clint patted his carapace and shooed him off fondly.

"So," Tony said.

"So," Clint replied. "Steve, then?"

"Yeah," Tony murmured, a huge smile unfolding across his face, like the opening of a flower. "I don't know why _he_ picked _me_ , but yeah."

"Because he loves you, dork," Clint said with a laugh. "Jesus, isn't it obvious? He followed you around like a lost puppy ever since you had us move in!"

"Yeah, well, I thought that was 'cause of...y'know," Tony said, shrugging his shoulders and looking away. Clint huffed.

"Steve's not that kind of guy," he replied. "You gotta trust him on that, Tony. He's not doing this because he thinks you're Howard. He just likes you."

"Then he's an idiot, but that's fine; I've never considered brains a dealbreaker either way. No one was ever going to be able to compete with me regardless," Tony said. The arrogance in his voice seemed more idle than anything; rote recitation that bordered on boredom.

"Maybe not when it comes to engineering," Clint agreed, "but there's other things in life."

Tony shrugged. He didn't say anything for awhile after that; Clint let him. He could see the gears churning in Tony's mind. 

"He doesn't hurt you?" Tony finally asked, after what felt like decades of silence. Clint jumped, turning back to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

"'Scuse me?" He said. "You mean Phil, right?"

"Yeah, Phil," Tony said. "Phil, the guy in charge of you. He doesn't burn you, or leave you hanging, or whip you until you bleed and pass out, or, uh, threaten you with a knife, or leave you on the floor for the night, or, or, uh, worse stuff, stuff I don't wanna—"

His voice had become more rushed, taking on a slurred quality to it, as if he just wanted to force his words out without thinking. Clint held up a hand.

"Hey, just shut up for a sec, okay?" He said, his tone soft and concerned. "You don't need to tell me what people did to fuck you over. I'm not your dom. That's something you can keep private, if you wanna."

Tony fell silent after that, the nakedly grateful look in his eyes making Clint shudder for the briefest of seconds.

"Right," he said, fumbling for a way to continue. "First...Phil's not in charge of me. Well, he _is_ , but—not like _that._ I mean, you've got it all wrong; there's nothing wrong with being a dominant, and being in charge, but—but they're not, like, they don't own you, okay?"

Clint massaged his temples. "Shit, sorry. I've never had to talk about this with anyone."

"It's fine," Tony said. "So he doesn't..."

"No," Clint cut him off, shaking his head. "He's _never_ done any of that stuff to me. I've never asked for it, and I've never wanted him to. I don't think he's ever wanted to do any of that stuff either."

Clint frowned, his eyes going stormy as his shoulders slumped. 

"But, uh...I knew a guy that did, once," Clint mumbled. "So I...sorta get where you're coming from."

Tony didn't meet his eyes, but the tension had drained somewhat from his body, leaving his shoulders relaxed and his head a bit higher as he sighed.

"So, he's not going to do that," Tony said. "'Cause I mean, I assume Steve's getting his instruction manual on how to beat me into submission from Phil."

"Okay, _whoa_ , wait," Clint said. "If you think that's what he's going to do, you need to not do _anything_ until you've worked something out. Jesus _Christ,_ Tony!"

"That's what he has to do!" Tony snapped. "Haven't you seen me? I'm not—"

"Look, if you're not a submissive, then Steve can't make you one," Clint cut him off, holding up an imperious hand for quiet. Tony watched him, shifting away and giving him a hesitant glance.

"If you're submissive, you're going to want this. You'll need to negotiate some dos and don'ts—a _lot_ of don'ts, from the sound of your past experiences—but in the end, you'll ultimately want whatever Steve has to offer, in bed and out. If you're not a submissive, that's fine; work from there. You guys don't even need to do kink if you don't wanna," Clint said. "But don't think he's going to beat you into submission. That's not Steve's way. Hell, that's not what _any_ good dom should be doing without express permission."

Tony sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"I am so fucked up," he finally said after another moment's pause. "I don't know why he'd want me at all."

"Because he loves you," Clint said, rolling his eyes. "That much is obvious. So don't question that; it'll get you nowhere. Worry about the other stuff."

"So, you're a sub," Tony said, abruptly shifting the topic. Clint nodded. He'd let it drop; this was important.

"Yeah," he replied. "I mean, I always was; I just never had a partner before this. Not for anything serious, you know?"

"Okay, so," Tony continued, "I need to know what's expected of me. I need to know what I'm gonna be doing. Because for once, _you_ seem to have all the answers, and I mean, you look happy with him, so...I figure you know what you're doing."

"I'm happier with him than I've ever been in my life," Clint answered. "I mean, that's a shitty low bar to jump over, but he's honestly the greatest thing to ever happen to me."

Tony regarded him for a second, head tilted.

"You look it," was all he said.

Clint allowed himself a moment of warmth that flooded his entire chest before he continued on.

"Well, okay, first off; all this stuff is subject to change except for a few key points," Clint told him. "You and Steve have a relationship together that isn't anything like mine and Phil's except for the whole dom-and-sub thing. That means even that aspect of it gets to change a bit, so don't feel weird if not all of this syncs up. We're not submissives for the same reasons."

"Phil and Steve are both fussy as a pack of hens, though," Tony said with a sigh. Clint laughed.

"Yeah, kinda. They're both a pretty similar kind of dom, but you're only going to figure out Steve's idiosyncracies when you're in bed with him," Clint explained. "Don't worry about him; I'm talking to you for your sake, okay?"

"You'd be one of the few," Tony said. "But go on."

Clint touched his shoulder for the briefest of moments before continuing. 

"Okay," he said. "Right. You're not going to want extreme violence, then. You're like me in that regard; this is a mental and emotional release for you. Physical pain is an aside at best. Steve can see to that however you both agree on." 

Clint smiled, shaking his head. "Honestly, the only advice I can offer, because I haven't followed it myself more than once, and I want _one_ of us to sit comfortably most of the time? Listen to him. Trust him when he says he's doing the best thing he can for you. The best thing about a dom is they want to be all about your needs and desires; seeing them gratified because of their own good judgement is all the satisfaction they want, for the most part."

"So, he gets off on me being good," Tony said. Clint shrugged.

"Kind of? There's other aspects; some of it is just the submission in general, some of it is the satisfaction of a sub...it's weird. Steve can figure it out on his own," Clint promised.

"You just need to get used to trusting him. And that's going to be rocky at the start."

"Probably," Tony agreed. Clint nodded.

"I figured. So, take it from me; don't take punishment personally," he said. "Honestly? I got bent over the bed or over a table so often I lost track. It was never for long, and it never left me with anything beyond a sore ass. I don't even think I bruised, for Christ's sake. And..."

Clint huffed, his face a bit pink as he continued. "Look, I _needed_ it. Sometimes you get really wound up, and anxious, and you get really scared and frustrated, right? And it's like shaking a soda bottle in your heart; it gets all tight and hot and the pressure's un-fucking-believable. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Tony agreed. "Yeah, kind of like that."

"Right," Clint said. "When I got like that, I knew I couldn't cut myself, or take it out on myself physically. So I'd act out on purpose. Throw a tantrum, pitch a fit, kick and scream and lose it. I'd be as much of a brat as I could, and Phil would sit there and let me. Then he'd sit me down when I could fuckin' see straight again, and he'd talk to me about what I did wrong. We'd agree on what I could do better, and what he could do better, and then decide on a punishment."

"So...what'd he do?" Tony asked, looking away as he spoke. "I mean, if it's...something you can talk about."

"It's something you need to know about, I figure, so yeah," Clint said. "Usually I just got a spanking. Could be anywhere from ten to fifty; depended on how much I'd misbehaved. I usually got around twenty. I only went up to fifty once when I broke one of his records."

He grumbled a bit. "Bought him a new one, and I still had a sore ass for the next three days."

Tony laughed; Clint relaxed. He'd been getting too tense, and he'd noticed his fingers starting up a drumbeat on the counter.

"Sometimes it wasn't anything even that bad; he just put me in bed for a half hour, or an hour, depending, and made me nap. It was our version of time-out, and it usually worked if I wasn't too pissy for one reason or another. But it's never gone beyond that outside of the bed; if I misbehave during sex, he just holds off on me until I apologize and beg for forgiveness," Clint said, his face flushing. "Err, sorry. Might be a bit too much, but you should probably...know this stuff."

"No, it's fine. I'm not going to tell anyone. Doubt anyone would really find it that shocking if we did," Tony said. "He do anything else to you?"

"Uh, no," Clint replied. "Why?"

"'Cause you've been fidgety since you woke up, and you're perching, not sitting," Tony said, gesturing to the way he sat. 

Clint was acutely aware of the plug in his ass, the heat of Phil's come still inside him, wet and slick around his entrance and burning up his insides.

"Well, nothing that's punishment..." Clint trailed off, his face burning.

"Right," Tony said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I figured as much."

"Jackass," Clint mumbled. Tony just laughed.

"It's fine," he said. "What else do I need to know?"

"Just what I said before; trust him, trust him, trust him. Trust him with your well-being. Give him control, because you trust him to make the right decisions for you. Let him take care of you, because you trust he has your best interests at heart. Let him punish you, because you trust him to help you calm down and do better when you fuck up. You have to trust him to do all of that," Clint said. "If you can't at the start, it's fine. I still can't wear blindfolds. We're working on it. And I haven't told him everything 'bout Barney."

"Your _brother?_ " Tony asked, his eyes wide. "Son of a _bitch_ , your _brother_ did—"

Clint flinched and pulled in on himself; Tony held up his hands in surrender.

"Whoa, sorry, right," he said. "Won't go into it. Right."

Clint relaxed after a few minutes, Tony rubbing his shoulders and sighing when Clint finally looked up.

"Sorry," they both said, before the two of them laughed.

"Yeah," Clint said as the laughter died down, "that's what I mean. There's stuff we still have to iron out. You don't go into a relationship like this for the first time knowing everything. You have to work out a lot with Steve, and as long as you do, you're okay."

Tony nodded, his body warm and loose with relief. "Cool. Anything else?"

"Just a quick thing; you know what subdrop is?" Clint asked. Tony tilted his head. Clint's stomach soured just a bit as he wondered about the other dominants Tony had implied he'd been with.

"Okay, so, have you ever felt clingy and needy after a session? Or completely shitty and mind-fucked? Like someone scooped out your brains and mushed them, or dumped mud into your skull?" Clint asked.

"All the time," Tony mumbled. 

Clint frowned.

"Y'know, when I'm not getting my ass reamed, I moonlight as a pretty decent assassin. If you make up a list, I'll gank 'em in the eye for you, okay?" He said. "Steve'll never do it. He's too nice."

Tony snorted, a tiny smile on his face as he looked up at Clint. He didn't know how to feel about Tony being so vulnerable around him; he couldn't really offer much help...but he liked the other man a lot more than he'd realized. He didn't mind so much, he supposed.

"Anyways," Clint continued, "subdrop is basically when you feel like absolute shit after a really draining session. Could be emotional, physical, or both. That's what aftercare is for; what you need after each session could vary based on how much you both did, or what you just need at the time. Steve's job is to be gentle and careful with you, and take care of any injuries, emotional or physical. If you think he needs it, you reassure him he didn't hurt you, and that you love him."

"Right," Tony agreed. "I've...never...I mean, thanks. That's good to know."

"Don't feel bad," Clint said, catching the slump to his shoulders. "I only know 'cause Phil told me. No one would've bothered to tell me otherwise."

"He really is good for you, huh?" Tony said with a sigh. Clint nodded.

"Yeah, he is," he agreed. "And Steve'll be so good for you, too. Tony, I promise, you're gonna be all right. Talk to me if things go haywire, okay? I'm not that much more well-versed in this, but we can sort it out between us."

"Right," Tony murmured. "Thanks, Clint."

"Anytime," he said with a little bow and flourish. "Feel up to playing cards for a bit? I figure Steve'll want to see you after he's done with Phil, so no use starting a project."

"Only if you sit properly," Tony teased.

Clint smacked his shoulder and grumbled, his face pink. Tony just pulled out a deck of cards and started to deal.


	16. How to be a Dom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Steve talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the wait time for this one! My nana died and there was the wake and the funeral and I just had to take care of a lot. I'm so sorry. Enjoy anyway, my apologies!

Steve sighed and sat down next to Phil in the living room. There was no one else around; they were alone, and could talk freely. The room felt strangely empty for all its splendor, minus all the people who normally made it warm.

Steve settled in on a plush couch and gestured for Phil to sit. He did so, inclining his head and sitting beside him, angling himself so he could lean against the armchair and look at Steve.

"So," he said. "You're going to be Tony's dom."

"I...I think so?" Steve said, tilting his head. "I don't really understand the parameters of it, and I don't want to go into this unprepared."

"Perfectly understandable," Phil replied. "You're being sensible, Cap. Let me explain to you what a dom does, then, and you can decide if that's what you want to do for Tony. After that, we'll work out some of the details from there. Fair?"

"Fair," Steve agreed, giving him a look. "So...what do dominants do?"

"In the general sense, dominants take control. Submissives give it freely, out of trust and love. Dominants use the control they're given to set limits, give punishment and praise, and watch over their submissives given the situation and its needs. For example, if Tony needs sleep, it's your job to make sure he sleeps; and if he refuses, you are in charge of meteing out his discipline," Phil explained. "Part of the trust also comes in here; Tony has to be able to trust you to be fair but firm when it comes to that."

Steve's face flushed pink, but he nodded.

"So...I'd be able to take care of him," he said. "And make sure he eats and sleeps."

"Yes, basically," Phil agreed. "You're going to need to take care of him. I mean, from the look of Tony, you're going to need to mete out a lot of discipline at the start. You'll need to take care of him to the extreme at first, to settle him in."

Steve nodded. "So...if I want to be his dominant...how do I, er, enact discipline?"

"Generally speaking, Clint gets two types of punishments outside of the bed; spanking and time-outs. Clint gets time to calm down and come back to himself after a temper tantrum, and then we sit down together and decide on a punishment; usually anywhere from ten to fifty blows. If he's _really_ bad, then I've picked him up and put him in time out to calm down first. That's usually if he's been triggered by something, rather than just acting out," Phil explained.

Steve nodded. "Should I start with that? I mean...I don't want to get too violent. I don't ever want to hurt him."

"No, I know; that's good," Phil promised. "Listen, there's a difference between discipline and outright bloodlust. I've had to educate Clint on the difference since we started dating. We have a lot to work out still, but I can assure you; it's best that you don't wish to harm him. Teaching him how to behave isn't the same as teaching him to be frightened of you."

Steve smiled, his shoulders relaxing as a smile spread across his face. "That's great. Thank you, Phil."

"If you're having problems, you can always come to me about this, Captain," Phil told him. "I'd be more than happy to do the best I can to help out the both of you. I took care of Tony before, back when he was sick with the palladium poisoning; I want to see him get better."

Steve nodded, before the weight of his words sunk in. "Oh, you did? Phil, please; tell me what you did to take care of him?"

"I made him eat and sleep, for one," Phil said. "Establishing a schedule is incredibly important. It gives you a good foothold when you're inevitably fighting him to go to bed or eat his dinner. If Tony's okay with it, I suggest feeding him yourself, by hand or utensil; whichever he's okay with. It should improve his enjoyment of dinner." 

Steve's face was bright red, but he nodded. "I, uh, I'll try it. And a schedule seems simple enough."

"Work with him when he's willing to cooperate; imposing limits should include some compromise on both your parts," Phil said. "You don't need to fight him every step of the way—you shouldn't. Make sure he's okay with this first; it'll make it easier to enforce the guidelines. But remember you're his dominant; the rules are yours to make, and Tony's job is to trust you enough to let you do that."

"Right," Steve nodded. "Anything else?"

"Participate in the activities with him, first; when it comes to eating and sleeping, eat with him, and tuck him in. Lie down with him until he falls asleep, especially if it's a nap. Make sure he knows you're as invested in this as he is," Phil told him. "Be careful with him. He's broken, Steve, in a lot of ways. I think you need to treat him with kid gloves, honestly. Ask him if he's okay with everything you do, and establish a safe word as soon as he's ready."

"Safe word?" Steve asked, tilting his head. Phil nodded.

"It's mostly for activities in the bedroom, but if he's exhausted and distressed, and punishment would only make it worse, he's allowed to tap out with his safe word. It has to be something he wouldn't normally say in sex or general conversation, so you don't mistake it for somethng else," Phil said. "Talk about that as soon as you can."

"I will," Steve promised. "So...this is all for things outside the bedroom. I, uh...I don't know what to do when we make love."

"Okay, well," Phil said, internally cringing. "That's going to be flexible at first. You have to work out what he's into, and what he isn't. That requires communication and research on your part. Tony needs to tell you both what he is and isn't into, and you need to know exactly what's going on when it comes to kink. Use the internet, and ask for Tony's help, if you're comfortable."

"I'll ask him," Steve agreed. "But, uh...I don't need to hurt him?"

"No, no; there are plenty of kinks that are nonviolent. Dominant and submissive relationships don't need to be violent at all; remember that punishment isn't violent, and you don't need to worry about hurting him. You're going to be a good dominant, Steve. You just need to let yourself work things out with him," Phil said. 

"I'll do whatever I can to make Tony happy," Steve promised. "Is there any more advice you think I should know?"

"Talk to him," Phil advised. "Honestly. Talk to Tony about all of this. Be open with him, and be honest with him about everything; your insecurities with this as much as your willingness to do this with him. I can give you the guidelines, but the relationship is between the two of you. In the end, you decide on everything that's going to work for you both."

Steve nodded, his shoulders slumping with relief as he gave Phil a warm smile.

"You've done a lot for me, Phil. Thank you. I owe you for this," Steve said, sighing. "I'm still nervous, I'll admit...but Tony and I can handle this thanks to you. I'll be all right." 

"You both will be," Phil promised. "I believe in you both. Tony needs this, and I think...honestly, you'll enjoy it. You'll be able to help him in ways he doesn't even know he needs yet. You'll be fine."

Steve smiled. 

"Thanks for the encouragement," he said. "And, uh, sorry for dragging you into all this."

"Don't be," Phil said, waving him off. "Tony's my friend too. I'll help where I can."

Steve nodded, standing up and stretching out before looking at Phil. "So, uh...I should go talk to him?"

"Yes," Phil replied. "Go speak to him, and be honest about everything. He's giving you his trust; you give him your honesty in return."

"Right," Steve said with a nod. "Thank you, Phil. I'll let you know how it goes."

He left the room with a heavy sigh, but the slant of his shoulders had slumped somewhat, the tension sliding away.

Phil settled in on the couch, closing his eyes and relaxing. Before he fell asleep, however, he asked one thing; "JARVIS? When Clint lets Tony be, tell him to come down here."

_"Of course, sir."_

Phil smiled, tilting his head back and reclining on the couch as he settled in to wait for Clint.


	17. Dinner Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper and Natasha have a talk. Phil makes dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the delay in, like, everything; I just got a new laptop and I'm preparing for college so days sort of fly by and I can't keep track. Sorry sorry! Enjoy!  
> Yeah I have Pepper/Nat; I figured what the hell, I love the pairing, and F/F is so rare that I wanted some in.

While Clint settled in with Phil on the couch and napped, content, Natasha had other plans in mind; namely, paying a visit to one Pepper Potts. 

She took her own car and drove out to the New York branch of Stark Industries; Pepper had set up an office there so she could work, and she had kept to her schedule for the most part despite the amount of change going on in both their lives. Natasha couldn't help but admire her for that.

When she arrived, the guard waved her in with barely a glance; Natasha would take that to mean Pepper had either guessed she was going to pay her a visit, or she had told them about her and asked if they could let her in. Both options made her smile as she locked her car and headed for the first floor, right towards the elevators.

She pressed the button for Pepper's office and rode up the levels without a word, the elevator's soft purr the only accompanying noise as she took out her hairbrush. She brushed her hair as she walked, the loose, long auburn waves falling over her shoulders as she sighed and strode forward. She could hear Pepper on the phone, and from the ache in her voice, she'd been on it for awhile.

Natasha opened the door and made her way in, taking a seat in front of her desk and folding her hands on top of it neatly, waiting. Pepper almost dropped her phone.

Still, she had enough sense to finish the call before hanging up. Natasha appreciated that.

"Nat," she said. "Wasn't expecting you at work."

"I'm sorry," Natasha said, though she thoroughly wasn't, "should I go?"

It was a mark of how new Pepper was to her life that she didn't immediately realize the game she was playing.

"Oh, god, no," she said, "by all means, stay! I'm done with business for the moment, if you're not busy?"

"Not at all," Natasha said modestly, hiding a triumphant smile. "I'll stay if you'd like, then."

Pepper nodded, gesturing to the seat in front of her. Natasha sank into it in a slow, graceful arc before leaning forward, her fingers drumming on the desk.

"You've been rather busy lately," she said. "Any reason?"

Pepper jumped, but didn't meet her gaze. Natasha simply continued to watch her.

"Well, there's a lot of work to be done at our New York branch," she explained. "I haven't really settled in, and the day to day affairs need to be handled properly."

"For three months straight?" Natasha said, her voice soft.

She didn't like seeing Pepper flinch. Still, that meant there was a very good reason she needed to be having this conversation, and Natasha had inflicted worse upon people than raw feelings.

"Well—it—" Pepper looked away.

"You're hiding from me," Natasha murmured. "It's all right, Pepper. I understand."

"I...I don't want to hurt you," Pepper mumbled, and Natasha tensed immediately for the damning breakup words.

"I just—don't know how to talk about this," Pepper said, looking up at her, "like, at all. So..."

Natasha relaxed immediately and smiled. "Oh, darling. If that's all, then why don't we settle some of the confusion over dinner?"

"Oh—really?" Pepper said, a hesitant grin on her face. "You would really do that with me?"

"Of course," Natasha said, rubbing behind her ear lightly before leaning over the desk to kiss her forehead. "Come home at five and dress nicely. I'll make reservations as soon as I leave. Is that good?"

"Yeah," Pepper agreed, her eyes sparkling as she let Natasha play wth her ponytail. "Yeah, that'd...be really nice. Someplace Italian?"

"Someplace Italian," Natasha promised, giving her one last kiss before letting her get on with her work. She left with a grin of triumph, her head held high, as she lifted her phone to her ear and dialed for Pepper's favorite restaurant.

...

Natasha came home at the same time as Thor and Bruce, looking for all the world like an incredibly satisfied feline. Bruce smiled hesitantly at her before slipping in and bolting upstairs. Thor fidgeted at the elevator, unsure of what to say.

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Natasha said to him as she folded her arms over her chest. "I've known the good doctor for a few months now. He's a skittish little thing. Treat him like you're trying to catch a newborn fawn and you'll be all right."

"I was worried I had done something wrong," Thor said, heaving a sigh. "Thank you, my lady."

"No trouble," she said. "He's a little shy and he gets tired after too much social interaction; even movie nights with the team wear him out. Just give him a few hours of space and go get him for dinner."

Thor nodded, bowing and allowing her into the elevator first. "After you, lady Natasha."

"You are a sweetheart," she said, reaching up to pat his broad shoulder. "It's appreciated, big fella."

Thor beamed, pleased, as the two rode up to the main floor. Natasha walked through the hall and into the living room, tossing a throw pillow at Clint and Phil when she passed.

Clint grunted, but did not stir; Phil cracked open a single eye and smiled at her. She waggled her fingers in greeting before heading up to her room to prepare for her date.

"Do we have to get up?" Clint asked, snuggling into Phil's chest to delay the inevitable. Phil rubbed behind his ear lightly and kissed the crown of his head.

"You don't have to, princess," he said, "but it's about three o'clock, and I was planning on a big dinner. If you want to help me cook it, you can get up."

"'Course I do!" Clint protested, sitting up sharply and covering Phil's face with gentle little kisses. "C'mon, baby, gimme some more credit than that. I wanna help, honest!"

"Okay, okay! I understand, princess, you can help," Phil promised, pressing a few kisses to his face in kind before helping Clint up, the two of them heading into the kitchen to start dinner.

The kitchen was warm and smelled faintly like last night's dinner; wine and lemon peel assailed their noses as Phil rifled through the cabinets. Clint climbed up onto the counter, sitting crosslegged beside the stove and took his boots off, letting them hit the floor with a loud thunk. 

Phil opened up his book of recipes, which was mostly looseleaf stapled together, and found the curry recipe Bruce had given him. He pulled open a few drawers, tossed Clint some spice bottles, and set down a sack of rice on the counter with a groan.

"Wonder how many people are actually gonna be here tonight," Clint said as Phil started the oven. "Nat had that look where she knows she's gonna get laid, so I guess her and Pep are going out."

"Well, that's only two down," Phil said, taking out a bowl full of fixings for curry. "Bruce and Thor are both here, and Thor eats enough for four; so does Steve. Tony and Bruce are a little more picky, but they'll certainly want food, and then there's the two of us, so..."

"Okay, yeah," Clint said. "I forgot there's so many of us now. It's nice, though. I don't think I've ever felt more at home since I started living here."

"Neither have I," Phil confessed, "at least, not since I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and gran died. It's like living back in Elizabeth again."

"Only with me here," Clint said. Phil turned around to kiss his cheeks and ruffle his hair gently.

"Yes, with you here," he said. "Now, would you mind starting the rice?"

Clint shook his head and smiled, doing just that as Phil began to prepare the curry.


	18. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony negotiate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the update gap! I just moved into college and I'm settled in a bit, so hopefully updates will go as normal. Thank you for your patience.  
> Steve's going to have problems at being a dominant, yeah. So there's some discussion of abuse herein.

Tony and Steve had found one another shortly after their respective talks; Tony had gone up to his room for some peace and quiet to mull things over, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. 

He would've protested, but he had a feeling he knew exactly who was at his door, and so he sighed and got up, opening it to see Steve standing in the door, fidgeting.

"Err, hi," he said. "Is it...okay if I'm here? If you'd like to be alone, I understand, but, um, if not...I'd like to be with you."

Tony couldn't say no to a proposal like that, and so he just sighed, smiled, and beckoned Steve in.

"You can sleep in here now, if you want," Tony ventured. "You're my...my whatever. It can be your room now."

" _Our_ room," Steve said firmly, and something vulnerable and raw in Tony's chest fluttered. He surveyed the other man and smiled. "Your whatever?"

"I dunno what you wanna be called," Tony mumbled. "Master, sir, whatever. Or...what you wanna call me, either. I've gotten almost every name in the book. Maybe you could bust out some from the forties or whatever."

"I...Tony," Steve said. "That's your name."

"Anthony, really," Tony said absently, before looking up at him. "Wait, _what?"_

"Well...Tony," Steve said, a sinking feeling pulling down his stomach. "Tony. You're my Tony. I like the way that sounds when I say it, and I don't see why I'd want to change it. And...you're not calling me master. Or sir. I'm not...you don't..."

"But then what do I call you in bed?" Tony said, tilting his head. Steve didn't like the tone he was adopting; panicked, frail, and confused. Those were the sort of things he would've never associated with Tony, and yet...

"Steve," he said. "Just...Steve."

"Oh, god, you don't get it," Tony said, massaging his temples. "You're my _dominant._ You're supposed to make me call you master, and I'm—I'm supposed to be—"

"Supposed to be _what?"_ Steve snapped before he could stop himself. "Something less than Tony? Because I refuse to treat you like that!"

Tony stopped and stared at him for a second, as if he couldn't process what Steve was saying. Steve sighed. 

"I wouldn't mind calling you pet names," Steve said. "Phil calls Clint princess when they're together. I think that's cute, but you might bristle; you're very proud, Tony. I don't mind. I'm certainly not going to take your dignity from you. I've seen too many horrendous, monstrous men do that to too many people. To do that to _you?_ Unthinkable."

Tony flinched, shrugging and taking a step back. "Sorry. I forgot you're not used to this."

"Tony, it's not about whether or not I'm not used to this," Steve said, his voice firm. "You might have experience with this, but not the right kind of this. If I'm going to be your dominant, I'm going to do it like Phil said; with love and care and your needs in mind, first and foremost. That's the only way we're doing it if we're going to do it at all. Am I understood?"

Tony hadn't felt so weak and raw since he'd felt shrapnel clustering around his heart, like vile little locusts.

"Y-yes," he said, on the verge of tears. His eyes were hot and his chest was tight. Steve's face softened, and he came close, picking Tony up and bundling him into his arms, rubbing his back and shushing him.

"You're okay," Steve said. "You're okay. We're going to work this out together when you're ready. We'll be just fine, you and I. My sweet little baby boy. We're going to be all right."

Tony's face went pink at the compliment; Steve smiled and laughed, brushing a kiss against his forehead.

"We're going to try some names out in private," Steve murmured, "but I like baby. Don't you?"

Tony blushed deeper, wriggling a bit in Steve's touch. He didn't know how to handle this; the gentle touches, the teasing, the smiles, and honestly, it terrified the shit out of him. He didn't know how to tell Steve.

"Okay," Steve said, "I think we'll try them out later, okay? Let's get you laid down. A nap before dinner sounds good, doesn't it? We're going to work out a schedule later, but for now, this'll do."

Tony was more grateful for a nap than he'd ever been in his life. The fact that Steve knew just what to do in any situation, from the evidence he'd shown Tony, simply made it all the sweeter as Steve laid him down on the bed, helped him dress in a pair of pajamas, and then crawled into bed next to him as they both laid down for a nap.  
JARVIS was waking them up a few hours later with a muted, _"Dinner, boys. Will you be all right going?"_

"Tony has to eat," Steve said, and that was that. Tony's protestations were vague things at best, and Steve turned around to kiss his face and hush him when he spoke. It was enough to get them both out of bed. Steve nuzzled his neck, a little mischievous grin on his face.

"Want to go down to dinner in your pajamas?" he asked. "I think you look cute as anything, Tony."

"Well, if _you_ think I'm cute, then that's all that matters," Tony murmured in reply, and being able to tease his dominant felt so good. He'd never expected to have a dominant who wouldn't slap him for that.

"Not really," Steve said. "If _you_ think you look cute, that matters to me more."

Tony's face went bright red. Steve blushed in kind. "Well, I mean, maybe you wouldn't want to use the word cute. But the thought..."

"You are too much," Tony said, utterly fond. He leaned up to kiss Steve's cheek and hugged him tight. "Okay. Cute it is. Ready for dinner?"

Steve nodded eagerly, letting Tony lead him out and down the winding staircase to dinner.

...

"We're almost done," Phil said. "I got this recipe from Bruce, actually; I'm curious to see if I did it right. I've never tried Indian cuisine before."

"Well, you're the best cook ever, so," Clint said. Phil chuckled, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"Don't you think you're a bit biased, princess?" he said.

"But right," Tony said, coming into the kitchen in his pajamas, going to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer. Steve shot him a look as he came in; Tony put it back with a grumble of protest, but sat down with a can of Pepsi anyway. Steve leaned across the table to kiss his forehead in reward.

"You are a good cook, Phil," Steve agreed, watching the man turn pink with praise. "Honestly, some of your recipes remind me of my own mother."

"Gran," Phil mumbled with a big smile. "She was an excellent cook. I'm just a pale imitation of her, I promise."

"I'll take it over my own cooking any day," Tony said. "Where're Thor and Bruce?"

"Don't say it like that, the doctor needs to work this out on his own," Phil said, whapping his knuckles lightly with a wooden spoon as he came to set the pot of curry down. "If you needle him too much, I think the other guy's going to want a word with you."

"Clint can be Cupid on this one," Tony agreed, going to get curry. Steve grasped the spoon before he could, making him a bowl with yogurt sauce and rice. Tony gave him a look, but took the bowl anyway.

"Cupid? Who on Earth is Cupid? A fellow Avenger?" Thor asked, making them all jump. Phil shot a look at Tony. 

"Nobody special, Goldilocks," he said. "You know where the good doc is?"

"He went to sleep upstairs," Thor said. "I think he was worn out after our day out."

Tony shot a smug look at everyone else. Thor continued on, unaware of what it implied, "I asked him to show me around the city. We walked for a good few hours, and he seemed pleased, but..."

"He's not the most social of people," Phil said. "He probably just needed to recharge."

"That was what the lady Natasha said," Thor replied with a nod. "Shall I fetch him for dinner? She told me not to let him neglect it."

"Please," Phil said. "He's still not used to getting to eat a steady diet, and you might have more luck than me."

Thor nodded, a stormy look flitting across his face for a second before he murmured a quick goodbye and went to find him.

"I told you," Tony said as soon as he heard Thor climbing the stairs, (three at a time by the sound of things.) 

Phil shot him a look. "Eat your dinner, Tony."

Tony huffed and drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds before Steve gave him a look. He did what he was told with a little pout for the briefest of seconds.


	19. Curry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinnertime at the Avengers Mansion, and old musicals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'll be level.  
> This got out of hand.  
> I didn't intend for it to do that, but it did; I happened to like writing d/s stuff, and this is my only venue to do so, so it spun out of control and I tried to include other pairings and aaah.  
> And see, that's not bad, but it does mean the fic is getting longer and longer. So, with college and my own original work to worry about, I won't have as much time to write for this.  
> STILL, I will try to update about weekly, or a week and a half at the most. It won't be as quickly updated as you're used to with my other fics, and for that I'm really sorry, but college is exhausting, and I only have 3 days off, which are mostly filled with homework and stuff. So I will try my best for you guys!! And please enjoy what I have to offer today, okay? :3

Thor went upstairs, before suddenly realizing as he ascended another flight that he didn't actually know where Bruce slept.

"JARVIS?" he asked, craning his head up to look at the ceiling. "Is there any way you could tell me what floor the doctor resides on?"

 _"The floor just above you, Thor,"_ JARVIS said. _"I know this building inside and out. If there is anything you need, just ask."_

"I forget Anthony programmed you to be so clever," Thor said. "I'm not entirely sure how."

 _"That isn't something you should feel bad about. Most normal mortals don't understand how he did it either,_ " JARVIS replied. He sounded as close to amused as was possible. 

"I see," Thor said, though he still had a mind to ask Tony. Later, however, after he'd fetched the other man and made him eat. 

He passed Natasha on his way up; she made her way downstairs in slow, measured steps, wearing a stunning red dress that coated her curves like the luxurious stroke of a skilled artist's brush. Thor swallowed and bowed.

"My lady, you look stunning," he said. "What is the occasion?"

"I have a date," she said. "From the looks of it, so do you."

"Ah," Thor said. "If it is custom, then perhaps I should wear my cape? It is not quite an outfit in all red, but it will do?"

He looked _so_ naive, and Natasha's restraint only went so far. The good doctor could thank her later. 

"I think it'd be a great idea," she said, the picture of innocent helpfulnes until Thor went upstairs and out of earshot, beaming, a red cape fluttering around his shoulders in a conjured breeze. After that, she fled down the stairs, stifling laughter in to an elegantly-manicured fist.

Thor reached Bruce's door and knocked on it once, twice, and then paused, giving him a moment to reply. He received nothing; Thor frowned, shaking his head.

"Bruce?" he called. "Bruce, are you well?"

 _"Thor, I believe he is asleep,_ " JARVIS said. _"I analyzed his vitals, and his heart rate is consistent with a state of rest. Would you like me to unlock his door?"_

Thor paused. Would that be an invasion of Bruce's privacy? He didn't want to frighten the doctor, or appear brutish and uncaring before him. Still...he had to eat. He could escort him back upstairs to continue sleeping later, after dinner.

Thor nodded, satisfied with his conclusion, and said, "Please, JARVIS. It would be appreciated."

 _"Very good, sir,_ " JARVIS said. Thor heard the door click; he grasped the knob and turned it open, poking his head in.

All the lights were off, and he had no idea where on earth anything was. Thor frowned, sighing and shaking his head as he crept in, hand fumbling over the wall for the light switch.

_"Thor, I could turn the lights on—"_

JARVIS was cut off by a rustle of blankets, a creak of the mattress, and a ragged, hoarse scream.

Thor snarled a challenge in reply, grasping Mjolnir as lighting raced along the hammer, lighting up the room.

_"Thor, no, do not—Bruce, doctor Banner, if you could just—"_

_"Where is the threat?"_ Thor demanded, his voice a barely-human growl that made the whole room tremble.

JARVIS flicked the lights on, and Bruce stared in wide-eyed horror at Thor, clutching a pillow to his chest. His hands were green, his eyes clenched tightly shut.

"Thor?" he whispered. "Thor, it...it's you, right?"

"Of course," Thor replied, dropping his voice immediately. "Bruce, who on earth did you think it _was?_ "

"My dream said dad," he said, licking his lips and clutching the pillow tighter. "Logic told me Ross. I'm defenseless, asleep, and in the tallest building of the most obvious city in the world. Of course he came for me, of _course._.."

"You may live in a large building, and I confess, that does not lend itself to hiding," Thor agreed, "but consider this, Bruce. This 'most obvious' place of which you speak is bristling with weapons, security, robots, and the other people that live here. And they are Midgard's finest warriors."

"And you?" Bruce said. Thor shrugged.

"Well, yes, but I am not from Midgard," he said. "Still, my point stands. You are safer here than anywhere else, I swear to you. It has nothing to do with how well you are hidden, and everything to do with the fact that now, you live with people who will protect you. Whatever enemies you face, you do not face them alone."

Bruce stared at him for a few minutes, blank and numb. Thor let him have his silence, patiently waiting.

"What are you _doing_ here?" he finally asked. Thor smiled.

"I came to fetch you for dinner," he said. "Phil prepared the curry recipe you gave him. I believe he wants to see if it would pass muster."

He gestured to the room and frowned. "I am sorry for barging in, truly. I did not mean to frighten you. I didn't wish to intrude, but you were sleeping..."

"I was," Bruce said. "Can't I go back to bed? They don't...really want me downstairs."

"Yes, we do," Thor said firmly. "You will come down for dinner. It is not up for discussion, Bruce."

Bruce retreated from him, looking away. Thor sighed. "You may come up to bed afterwards. I will escort you personally, if that is what you wish. But I want you downstairs for dinner, and I am certain the rest of the team agrees."

Bruce watched him, wide-eyed, for a few minutes. Thor gave him the time to think.

"...Is...is that your cape?" Bruce finally asked, his voice timid. Thor beamed.

"The lady Natasha said red is custom for a 'date,'" he explained. "Does it pass muster?"

Bruce was going to have a few stern words for Natasha when she got back.

"It...it looks great," he said, his face pink. "How about you let me get dressed and I'll meet you downstairs?"

"I will wait outside," Thor said, bowing and leaving the room. Bruce groaned. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

He sighed and got out of bed, dressing in his normal purple shirt. He was going to wear jeans, until he remembered Thor had been wearing his cape to impress him. Him. 

Bruce wore khakis, and exchanged his purple shirt for a silk one Tony had bought him. He opened the door and bumped immediately into Thor's broad chest.

"Aah, my apologies," Thor said. "I forgot that I would end up being so close."

Bruce could feel his chest vibrating when he talked. His voice felt nice against his cheek.

"It's fine," he mumbled, pulling away. Thor surveyed him for a second.

"You look wonderful," Thor said, warm and genuine. "But you didn't brush your hair."

Bruce flinched, self-loathing filling his veins with sour vinegar. He wanted to shrivel himself up in embarrassment; of course, of _course,_ he'd forgotten something so simple as brushing his _hair,_ because he was an _idiot_ , was—

"It looks...precious," Thor said, like he was having a hard time picking out the right word. "You look...you look..."

He didn't tell him how he looked. But Thor's big hand was in his hair, stroking and toying with the soft little curls, rubbing and playing with it, and it was answer enough.

"Shall we go?" Thor offered, gesturing to the elevator. Bruce nodded.

"Sure," he murmured. "Sounds like a plan."

...

Phil was just putting the bowls down when Thor and Bruce walked in; he didn't say anything, but the doctor looked like he'd been playing hopscotch in a minefield, and Thor didn't look much better.

"How about a movie tonight?" he suggested, hoping it might keep Bruce downstairs. "Your turn to pick, Bruce."

"Oh," Bruce mumbled. "Is it already? I...I guess?"

"It'll be good to have you down here, doc," Clint piped up, and Phil could've kissed him for that. He caught the look and beamed at his dominant's pleasure. "C'mon, Bruce?"

"Let me just get through dinner first," Bruce said with a sigh, settling in at the table. Thor sat across from him, but made no move after that. Phil put a bowl of the curry in front of him, the yogurt sauce somewhere over by Tony, (who detested spices.)

"Just let me know if I did this all right," Phil said. "I was going off your recipe, but you're the expert, doctor."

"I'm not, I promise," he mumbled with a tiny smile. "You should've seen the woman I lived with. Parvati was a fantastic cook. I'm just learning from her."

He took a bite and blinked, swallowing. "Phil, you made it a bit spicier than I would've."

"Clint likes it," Phil said with a fond little smile. "Tony, not so much."

"I like spicy food!" Tony protested. "What I don't like is when it's so hot it burns my lips, damn it!"

Clint wolfed down another enormous bite and beamed at him. Tony kicked him underneath the table. Phil groaned.

"You're both children," he said, his tone fond. "Bruce, are you all right with the spices?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he said. "Thank you. You did a great job, Phil, honest! I don't mean to put your cooking down or anything like that."

"I didn't think you meant that, Bruce," Phil said gently. "Relax."

Bruce sighed, slumping his shoulders as Thor took a huge bite, tilting his head.

"Anthony, I don't know what you're complaining about," he said. "I don't see the problem with the spices."

"Oh, you just give it a minute," Tony muttered, taking a spoon and dipping it straight into the tureen of yogurt sauce.

A beat passed, and then Thor was reaching for the yogurt sauce. Tony got up and bolted with it, Steve yelling for him to come back as Phil sighed and threw up his hands, sitting down at the table and pouring himself a few fingers of whisky. Clint and Bruce just continued to eat, nonchalant.

When the madcap affair of dinner had been settled, (Tony had been talked into coming back to sit down with promises of a cuddle on the couch, and Thor had gotten his own tureen of yogurt sauce), and the plates cleared, Bruce looked around at everyone and tilted his head.

"Um...if we watch a movie, are you all okay with watching a musical?" he asked. 

"Depends," Tony said. "Which?"

 _"Sound of Music?_ " Bruce mumbled. "I know it's ridiculous, but it's a really soothing movie, and—"

"Shit, I think I know all the words to that one," Tony said. "I used to, anyway. Wanna see if I still do?"

Bruce beamed at him, relieved, and Tony ruffled his hair. "C'mon, let's go set up the DVD."

Before Tony left, Steve caught him, spun him around, and lightly pecked his lips.

"That was so kind of you, Tony," he murmured. "I'm very proud."

"No, I really _do_ know all the words," Tony said. Steve gave him a look.

"You know what I mean," he said, kissing his cheek. "Phil said I'm allowed to reward you for good behavior. I'll keep this in mind."

"Oh, boy," Tony said with a pleased little hum. "Which reminds me, we need to pick out a collar."

Steve blinked, but before he could ask Tony, he was gone. He sighed, shaking his head, and went to settle in the living room with everyone else.

The movie was peaceful; Tony had curled himself in between Steve's arm and chest and stayed firmly snuggled there for the rest of the night. Phil had a lapful of Clint, who constantly wriggled and shifted, nuzzling and snuggling him. 

Phil peppered the top of his head with kisses, making him squeal every so often, especially when his fingers toyed with his neck, or the shell of his ear. Steve was a little more restrained, but he leaned down every so often to kiss the top of Tony's head.

Thor sat on the opposite side of the room from Bruce, but he could feel the other man's gaze on his skin the entire time. It wasn't entirely unpleasant; it was like being grazed by lightning. The thrill and adrenaline made his skin prickle, but at the same time, a sense of panic settled in his chest. 

Eventually, the movie was over. Phil checked the time and huffed.

"I was going to wait for Natasha and Pepper, but it's midnight," he said. "Clint, bed."

"Okay," Clint mumbled, stretching out and nuzzling into Phil's chest. "Night, guys."

"Night, brat," Tony said, giving him a little smirk. Clint ruffled his hair as he passed, making Steve sigh and shake his head.

"Bed for you too, baby," Steve murmured in his ear. "Come on, Tony. Up."

"I have work to—"

Tony felt a warm, huge hand on his bottom, lifting him up and squeezing. Steve tutted gently and held him against his chest.

"Goodnight, boys," he said. "Thor, make sure Bruce gets upstairs safely."

"It's a walk upstairs," Bruce protested, largely to save face, because his entire chest felt a little warmer. Steve thought he was vulnerable, too. He was something to be protected and defended here, not denigrated or thought of as dangerous. It was an intoxicating feeling.

He couldn't get too used to it. They wouldn't want him to stay much longer. Still.

"You did wonderfully," Thor praised him, standing up as soon as the others left. "I did not expect you to remain, but you exceeded all my expectations, Bruce. You did well tonight."

"Thank you," Bruce mumbled, ducking his head and looking away. Thor bowed.

"Shall I escort you upstairs, then?" he said. Bruce nodded, letting the god lead the way upstairs.

He was still curious about the slight changes in the god's demeanor, and as he sat in bed that night, he considered them. He seemed more open emotionally, and yet, physically, he'd become so distant...even over the course of a few hours. He wouldn't touch him at all, but he'd speak with him more openly than he had this morning. 

What had he decided? That it was better to keep his distance? Perhaps...not that it would surprise Bruce much.

He sighed, pushed his face into the pillow, and tried to will himself to sleep. It didn't come for a few more hours, and when it did, it was laced with thunder and lightning.


	20. Pillow Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner dates and cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made this extra long as an apology and also to finally have Phil and Clint back in! I'm so sorry aaahhhh. I need to keep writing this alongside the novel, I'm running out of words for it and I worry so much you guys. I LIKE HAVING MY WIPS PRE-COMPLETED. UGH.  
> Enjoy!

While the boys had their dinner, Natasha sat across from her lover and debated where, exactly, she had failed.

Because she had. She wasn't an idiot. She read emotions for a living, and Pepper was the first serious lover she'd had in years; there was nothing the other woman could hide from her.

She had failed her lover and failed in this relationship. The dinner she had thought might fix things was only making it all worse.

"Pepper," she murmured, after a good ten minutes where they refused to meet the other's eyes, "are you breaking up with me?"

It hurt. The thought of not having the redhead in her bed hurt. She was so soft at her core, and the stern, uncompromising woman that had been built around that core entranced her as much as the soft, yielding vulnerability only she was privilege to.

"What?" Pepper said, looking up and blinking, wide-eyed with shock. "What? What, I'm sorry, _what?"_

"You can't look at me," Natasha murmured. She was shocked at how pathetic she sounded. The only person who could reduce her to this was Pepper; she couldn't lose her. She would lose this raw, emotional part of herself with her.

"Oh, I...well, I thought you were breaking up with _me,"_ Pepper mumbled. Natasha would've  laughed if this hadn't all been completely ridiculous.

"Pepper, I took you out to dinner because I was worried about you, not because I'm breaking up with you," she said, keeping her voice gentle. "I know you've been having...issues...lately, and I'm willing to bet it's about our relationship. Would you like to talk?"

"Right," Pepper said. "Right, talking. That I can do. Talk. Okay."

She inhaled, put her hands on the table, and squeezed it for support before she opened her mouth.

"I'm not scared of you or anything," she said. "It's just...this relationship, and all this stuff, they're both really new to me. I mean...I was pretty sure I was over and done with men, because Tony Stark does that to almost any woman he meets. But to meet someone like you—like, I mean, when I thought you were just an office worker, you were still the most impressive woman I'd ever met."

She smiled, vague and sad. "And now? Now that I know who the great Natasha Romanova is, and what she does? I mean...it's scary. I can't compete with an Avenger, with _the_ Black Widow. I'm not nearly half as brave or heroic or...whatever. I'm a PA who got a lucky promotion because her boss thought he was dying. I'm not 'you' material."

Natasha sighed. Damn it. For all her skill at reading people, how could she have not noticed such severe feelings of inadequacy? It was her folly. Pepper was better at putting up masks and dissembling than she could have possibly imagined.

"Okay," Natasha said, "let's talk about this. First off, recall when we first met. When you didn't know who I was, but I knew who you were. I knew all about you. And yet, we became friends."

"Well, it could've just been for cover, I mean, was it? I mean—"

"Do you honestly think," Natasha said, her voice suddenly sharpening, "that those nights at your apartment with movies and wine, where we shared popcorn, and, after you'd had a few glasses of wine, kisses, too—do you think that was my cover?"

Pepper didn't answer, her hands shaking. Natasha pressed on.

"Do you think that the days where it was just the two of us in that office, and you broke down in tears from stress and panic and fear, because you _knew_ something was wrong with Tony, he hadn't given you the job for no reason, and when you cried out of fear, for both yourself and for him, I held you and stroked your hair and promised you safety and stability—do you think that was my cover? Do you think I did that to keep up some bullshit charade?"

Pepper looked on the verge of tears. Natasha continued on regardless.

"The only cover I had was a changed name," she said. "Everything I did for you was real. I couldn't hide myself from you, Pepper. For a person who has spent their entire life hiding who they were to serve the needs of others, you have to realize how important you are to me. Because you are. I promise."

She cupped her cheek and shook her head. "You are not Tony's PA. You were never his PA. You were his hero. You were his savior. You were everything he needed for almost a decade of his life. He has Steven now. But he has never stopped needing you; you give him stability, you ensure his business continues to function so he might continue to be Iron Man, to juggle his responsibilities better by having you as CEO."

Natasha gave her a look. "Consider this; he gave it to _you_ when he was dying. I do not see that as an insult, or a cruelty. I see that as the highest compliment a man like Tony can muster. When he was dying, he trusted his life's work, his legacy, everything he and his family had built up for generations—he put it all in your hands, and asked you to take good care of it. Because he trusted you. With all his heart and soul."

Pepper was bawling silently, tears pouring down her face as she clenched her jaw. If she breathed, she would break down. Natasha cupped her cheek.

"Now tell me you're just a PA," she said. "Tell me you're 'just' Pepper Potts. Tell me that we don't think you're our hero, too. Tony and I, and everyone else."

"Can't," Pepper managed to rasp out. "Gonna cry."

"Then I think I've proved my point," Natasha said, stroking her hair. "Don't cry, beloved. We'll talk about everything else when we get home. Just enjoy dinner, love. You ordered prosciutto with melon. Isn't that your favorite?"

Pepper nodded, wiping at her eyes. Natasha held her hand over the table and squeezed. "You're all right. Sit down, love. Let's just talk."

And so they did; the talk was all prattle, innocuous things, but neither of them minded. After everything that had transpired, that seemed more like a kindness than anything.

Coffee came, eventually, and Natasha ordered for them both; Pepper smiled, blushing. The reminder that her lover knew her that well soothed her. Still...they had even more to talk about, which may have hurried their coffee talk on a bit.

They got into the car together, and the second they did, Natasha covered Pepper's face and neck with bruising kisses, her teeth nipping against Pepper's shoulder and making her breath hitch.

"We'll speak of it when we're at home," Natasha breathed against the blooming hickey. "Come along, Pepper."

"Yes, Natasha," she said, sitting down next to her as they sped home.

She sat with her head on Natasha's shoulder for the entire drive home; Natasha drove as quickly as she could through the streets, given that it _was_ New York traffic. Pepper just hummed, drumming her fingers idly on Natasha's thigh as she drove.

They entered the Tower and Natasha called, "JARVIS? Boys in bed?"

" _Yes, madam,"_ JARVIS said. " _They're all asleep."_

Natasha and Pepper raised twin eyebrows of confusion.

"Even Tony?" Pepper said.

" _Even Tony,"_ JARVIS confirmed, sounding pleased. " _Steven made sure of that."_

The two of them shared a grin.

"Oh, I'll bet he did," Pepper said with a laugh. "Good for them."

"Yes, I suppose," Natasha agreed. "Now, up to our floor. You need sleep, and we still need to talk."

"Right," Pepper agreed, letting Natasha lead her into the elevator and hold her hand as they headed up the stairs.

They made it into their bedroom and Pepper had just enough time to shut the door before Natasha pointed at her clothes and said, "Strip."

Pepper undressed, her fingers fumbling on buttons and zippers out of nervousness. Natasha normally selected her something silky or lacy for bed; when she looked up, there was a huge, worn Guinness Beer shirt in her hands.

Pepper pulled it on over her head and smiled, relieved, as Natasha dressed in a red tee shirt and grey pants before climbing into bed, patting the space beside her. Pepper climbed in and snuggled close, letting Natasha cup the back of her head and stroke her hair, rubbing her neck.

"Okay," Pepper said, "I don't want to stop being your submissive. Honestly. I just want to talk about this."

"Of course," Natasha said, kissing her neck. "You're unused to this."

"Well, yes," Pepper admitted. "I've never really had...well, I mean, after I became Tony's PA, I stopped having relationships, period. I hated the idea that some creep would be using me as some way to get to Tony. I deserved better, for one, and it was a way of keeping Tony safe. I'd hate if I was in any way responsible for his downfall."

"He'd never blame you, but I understand," Natasha said. "Go on."

"Well, basically, I haven't even had sex since my first year of college, because that was about when I met Tony. Hell, I worked at Stark Industries every summer; paid off my student loans in six months after that. But it did kind of kill my lovelife," Pepper said with a sigh.

"And yet, you and I..." Natasha trailed off as Pepper leaned up to plant a kiss on her lips and smile.

"I was getting to you," she said with a smile. "I took a risk with you, but I wanted to, with all my heart. You're beautiful, Natasha, and stunning, and...and amazing. You're someone reliable and strong, who I can trust. You were worth the risk, and I've never regretted it."

Natasha smiled, hugging her tight. Pepper laid her head on her chest and sighed.

"I know this will sound ridiculous, but I just...I wasn't used to sex, let alone a relationship like this. It's fun, it is, but I guess I'm just..." Pepper trailed off with a sigh, trying to figure out how to put it.

"I love this, I do," she said. "But I guess I just want to know our relationship is more than that. I want to know I'm not 'just' your submissive. Because I'm not like Tony, or Clint, or Bruce. I don't _need_ this; it's fun, and I love playing with you, but I just don't need it like they do. I just want to make sure...that I matter beyond some bedroom games."

Natasha held her close and stroked her back, kissing her forehead.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured. "I should've noticed this was bothering you before. Oh, Pepper, forgive me. I haven't been a very good dominant, let alone a girlfriend."

"You're used to knowing exactly how to read people," Pepper said, kissing her neck. "I don't blame you. You aren't used to intimacy like this, sweetheart. I think it's blinding you to a lot."

"Possible," Natasha said, "but it's still unforgiveable. We'll resolve it. I will be a much better dominant."

She stroked her back. "As for your worth to me, love; you are the first serious relationship I've had in years as well. I shouldn't technically be dating you; fraternization rules and all that."

"Phil and Clint?" Pepper said with a laugh. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"I forgot to mention, the fraternization rules are essentially S.H.I.E.L.D.'s longest standing in-joke," she told her. "We're fine. It helps I'm an Avenger now; a lot less in the way of espionage now that I'm one of the most recognized faces on the planet."

"True," Pepper agreed. "I'm still glad you chose to date me. Really."

"As am I, love," Natasha said, kissing her forehead. "But about our relationship, I will be upfront; I am not here for bedroom games. I am here because I admire you and enjoy being with you. The fact that you are also ridiculously attractive helps."

She smiled at Pepper's giggle and kissed the top of her forehead. "As for your issues, perhaps there is some way I can help?"

"Is it okay if I top?" Pepper asked. "I mean, I do like being your submissive, but topping would be nice. Maybe we could switch back and forth a bit next time?"

"Sounds fine to me," Natasha agreed. "Anything to keep my little pet happy."

Pepper blushed and smiled, burying her face into Natasha's chest. "Okay. I'm definitely happy."

"Then I'm happy to hear it," she said, rubbing behind her ear. "Go to bed, Pepper."

"I will," she promised with a little yawn. "I love you, Natasha."

"I love you too, Pepper," she said, kissing the top of her head and closing her eyes. The two of them dozed off in minutes, smiles on their faces.

...

Clint awoke the next morning warm in Phil's arms and purred with satisfaction. He rolled over to press his face into Phil's neck, snuggling into the warm dip between his neck and shoulder. Phil murmured something incomprehensible, then pulled him closer.

Clint nipped playfully at his shoulder; Phil's hand squeezed his bottom in warning. Clint whined, nuzzling the bite in apology.

He wriggled down and out of Phil's arms, pressing his face into his crotch and breathing in the musk of Phil's scent through his briefs.

"Aw, Phil," he murmured, "lemme make it up to you, sir?"

Phil moaned as Clint breathed lightly on his cock, rubbing his fingers around the outline of his bulge.

"You...you may," Phil exhaled, a smile on his face. "It wasn't that big a deal, Clint."

"Yeah, but," Clint said, pulling his briefs down to expose his pale pink cock, bobbing against his stomach as soon as he freed it, "I've always wanted to wake you up like this, sir."

Phil could never refuse his submissive, especially not when he wanted to suck his cock. He put a gentle hand in Clint's hair and stroked it fondly before it fell away, fisting in the sheets as Clint sucked.

He was slow and considerate as he suckled, tonguing the side of Phil's cock and swallowing him every so often just to hear his lover moan. Clint licked his tip and hummed, taking his whole length in just to press his face against the soft curls between Phil's legs and breathe his scent in.

The two of them laid in bed for what felt like hours, lazy and content as Clint played with his cock, nuzzling and suckling as he breathed in Phil's scent, the motions of oral sex and the scent of his lover getting him hard. He rubbed his erection against the sheets and groaned, making Phil moan in tandem.

When Phil came, it was unlike any other orgasm he'd ever had with Clint; it wasn't passionate, or a white-hot burst that rocked his senses. He came undone in a slow downward spiral, settling into the depths of complete and absolute peace as Clint licked his cock clean of come.

His submissive came up to his side again, nuzzling into his neck. Phil could smell his own come on Clint's breath, and his cock twitched despite his recent orgasm.

"Did I do good?" Clint asked, bright and hopeful. Phil smiled and rubbed behind his ear lightly.

"You always do well, princess," Phil promised, kissing his forehead. "But that was exceptional, I'll admit."

Clint beamed, nuzzling close. He only yelped when Phil put his hand on his briefs, pulling them down and taking his cock in his hand.

"Ah, uh, sir, I didn't—didn't do that so you would—"

"Ssh, princess," Phil said, tugging lightly on his hair and kissing his throat. "I'm not doing this because you did. I just want to touch you. How could I not?"

His hand moved down to stroke around the lines of Clint's muscle and squeeze one of his pecs lightly. "You're gorgeous, Clint. Don't you see it?"

"I, uh, I guess," Clint said, his face pink. "If you say so, sir."

"You are," Phil promised. "I think you and I are due to have a talk about that soon."

"Y-yessir," Clint said, his chest tight with panic. "Am—am I going to be punished, sir? I'm sorry, honest—"

"Clint, ssh," Phil said, stroking his cock and making his lover shiver. "No, no you're not going to be punished. Relax. I'm here, princess, I'm here. You're okay. You're better than okay. You're perfect."

Clint came with a little desperate groan, burying his face into Phil's shoulder as he rode out his orgasm with a wracked shudder. Phil kissed both his cheeks and nuzzled his neck.

"You're all right," he promised his lover. "You're okay, Clint."

He held Clint in his arms for a few minutes more before he kissed his forehead and murmured, "Darling, no offense, but we should probably shower."

Clint laughed, letting Phil help him up and out of bed to wash up for the day ahead.

 


	21. Collared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Steve and Tony's relationship is going to be a little more about exploring kink, yeah. I just can't Steve being comfy right out of the gate with shit like tying Tony up and hitting him, all things considered. It reminds him too much of legitimate abuse and, in his own way, he thinks that he's not helping Tony feel better; he's making his insecurity worse. They just need to realize one another's point of view. uwu

Steve yawned, rolling over and bumping into Tony. He blushed and smiled, murmuring an apology as he nuzzled into Tony's hair.

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmured, rubbing his fingers lightly around the nape of Tony's neck. "I'm not used to having someone in my bed."

"S'okay," Tony mumbled, yawning widely and pressing a smushed, sleepy kiss into Steve's cheek. "What d'ya wanna do?"

"We could both use a shower," Steve said, sitting up and stretching out. "Then I think we should talk about that collar."

"Oh, okay," Tony said, getting up and letting Steve lead him into the bathroom with a wide yawn, wriggling his toes into the carpet. "We should, huh?"

"Well..." Steve sighed, kissing his forehead. "Let's just enjoy our shower together first, baby."

"So you _are_ going with baby, huh?" Tony said with a little smile. Steve blushed; Tony laughed. "No, it's okay. I like it."

"I'm really glad, sweetheart," Steve said, pecking his forehead. "Come here. I'd like to undress you, if that's okay?"

"More than okay," Tony said with a little grin, coming close so Steve could touch him lightly and kiss his forehead. Steve stripped him down and rubbed his back lightly, touching all the little bumps and scars that made up Tony's body.

"Beautiful," Steve said, though Tony was shivering with nervous worry. He relaxed a little bit at Steve's words, but even so, he stepped into the shower with a hint of trepidation. Steve was the first lover who put his hands on every part of his body, and it made him shiver.

Steve noticed Tony's hesitation, and when he picked up a washcloth, dumping body wash over it, he proffered it to Tony first in silent query. Tony nodded.

"This doesn't bother you?" he asked as Steve swirled the cloth around a scar on his hip. "I mean, 'cause you're the epitome of perfection right down to your skin and all."

"Why would it?" Steve asked, kissing his hip, pressing his lips directly into the scar. "You're my lover."

Tony smiled, stroking his hair and shaking his head. "You are ridiculous. I think I'm in love."

"Me too," Steve said, beaming, making Tony blush.

It felt...strange to have his childhood hero complimenting him on his body and calling him his lover. Still, it wasn't unpleasant. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Steve was the person he'd always imagined calling him beautiful in his head, anyway.

Steve picked up the shampoo bottle and presented it before him, a silent query. Tony nodded, tilting his head back. Steve kissed his wet hair before lathering it up thoroughly and rubbing his fingers into Tony's scalp with light little circles.

Tony yawned, utterly content, and leaned against him as Steve hosed him off with the showerhead. He ran a bit of conditioner through his hair before finally turning to his own hair. Tony continued to lean against his chest, the warm water making him sleepy and content.

"If you need to sleep a little more, you can," Steve said, his voice soft and gentle. Tony started, looking up and blinking. Steve traced the bags under his eyes once he was sure his fingers were free of soap.

"Honestly, Tony, I don't mind," Steve said. "An hour more of sleep can't hurt, right?"

"Mmhm," Tony mumbled. "Okay. Let's finish this up first though, okay?"

Steve smiled and nodded, letting Tony continue to lean against him as he finished up his hair, washing them both off before peppering Tony's shoulders with kisses.

"Up you get, baby," Steve said, rubbing his back as he helped him out of the shower and into a robe. Tony snuggled into it, pressing his face into the plush cloth as he dried off his face. Steve smiled, entranced, before finally remembering to dry himself off. Tony laughed as Steve blushed.

"You're too wonderful," he said. "It was a distraction!"

That just made Tony laugh harder. Steve laughed eventually too; the sound of Tony's laugh was infectious, and he loved it.

"Ridiculous," Steve murmured, rubbing the small of his back, his fingers pressing into the dip beneath hs spine as Tony jumped, face pink.

"A bit," he agreed, letting Steve kiss his neck. "Hey, Steve? If I give you a website to look through, can you look through it on the tablet while I get some sleep?"

"I, um, sure," Steve said. "Working the tablet's no problem. Don't you want to weigh in and get something you want?"

"Steve," Tony said with a fond little smile,  "what I want is what you want. At least, when it comes to this. Believe me, on some things, I'll bicker with you, but I'd like you to do this. You should pick out my collar. If I'm wearing it when you play with me, and you picked it out...that's a good thing, honest."

"...Okay," Steve said, shaking his head. "Are you sure you want this collar?"

"One hundred percent sure," Tony promised him. "And a leash, too. They'll probably sell sets. If not, look around?"

"A leash?" Steve said, a pit of fear growing in his stomach. "Tony, oh my _god_ — _"_

 _"_ Steve," Tony said, "I promise, swear to god, that it's not like what you think. Don't freak out, okay? It's fine. I want the leash. It's only for a little bit of directing during games or some bondage. Relax. I want it. I want _you_ holding that leash, Steve. Please."

Steve was torn between his reflexive instinct to refuse and Tony's wide-eyed pleading. He wanted to make Tony happy, but he loved Tony. He didn't want to see him broken and whimpering and pleading—let alone have been the man who made him beg.

"Steve?" Tony said, wrapping his arms around the other man and squeezing. "You're not doing anything bad to me. I like this. I want this. It's a good thing for me. I like...I like being broken down by someone I trust. I trust you, Steve, over everyone else in the world. You won't hurt me. I know you won't hurt me."

Steve hugged him tight, his worries soothed somewhat. Yes. Yes, he'd never hurt Tony. He'd never lay a hand on his little darling. Not ever.

He kissed Tony's forehead and guided him into the bedroom, tucking him in and wrapping him up in his blankets, stroking his hair as he picked up the tablet.

"It's in the bookmarks," Tony said with a yawn. "First site in the folder 'Shopping List,' okay?"

"Okay," Steve said, rubbing his hair lightly and giving him a kiss. "Now come on, settle in. You're okay."

Tony smiled and nodded, sinking down into the mattress and closing his eyes. Steve's heart ached as he smiled and stroked his cheek.

"Sleep some more, baby," Steve murmured, "I'm right here. I'm not leaving."

Tony beamed up at him with innocent delight before snuggling into his side, closing his eyes, and yawning widely, drifting off in the warmth of post-shower sleepiness. Steve stroked his hair until he was sure Tony was asleep, then logged onto the tablet and went to the folder, clicking the first link like he'd been told.

The site was done up in greys and whites; nothing special. Steve didn't _like_ the title, per se, but 'Pet Palace' was a lot better than what he'd expected.

He tried to go right to collars, but curiosity and worry got the better of him. The poisonous mix made his chest tight as he scanned the list of options to search through.

Gags? Whips? Some of the whips looked _horrifying._ There were barbs, or they were flails, and the idea—just the _idea_ —of subjecting Tony to one of them—

Steve swallowed, shaking. Just a collar. Right. He was just here to find a collar.

Except the idea of whipping Tony had made him sick to his stomach, and all he could think of was the men he'd fought in the war who had enjoyed doing the same thing. The thought of becoming like one of _them_ —enjoying torturing another human being, making them cower and cringe—made him ill.

He shuddered and stilled his stomach, shaking it off. He couldn't worry. Tony wanted this. Tony had promised him he wanted this. Just a collar. They'd talk about the rest later.

He started searching for collars with a heavy heart and a sigh.

He finally settled on a red collar, supple and soft-looking, with gold clasps. It looked like the comfiest of the collars he could see, and there were no spikes to be seen on it, which made it the least of evils in Steve's book.

"Darling," he murmured, shaking his head with a sigh. He had to get a leash now? God almighty. He couldn't...

But the thought of Tony stopped his protests. Because he _knew_ Tony at this point; Tony would blame himself entirely for Steve's discomfort, and see it as a flaw in _himself,_ which would only make everything worse.

Steve sighed. He would buy the leash for now. But they would have a talk before they used it.

He couldn't find one in red, but he found one in a soft sapphire that had gold studs ringing the hand-hold of the leash. They didn't look like they were spiked, and so he placed an order for the leash despite the frown creasing his features.

Tony was so fragile. Beneath that proud, powerful armor, he hinged on breaking, constantly. He didn't know how to help him. Wasn't sure what to do if he did.

He had to ask Phil. But he had to do it privately, somehow. And he had to do it before Tony wanted him to put that collar on.

Steve was jolted out of his thoughts as Tony stirred, rolling over to nuzzle his thigh.

"Hi," he breathed, his voice slow and pleased, sleepy as could be. Steve beamed at the sight of him despite all his misgivings.

"Hi yourself, baby," he murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of his fluffy, sleep-mussed hair. "Bought the stuff."

"Fantastic," Tony practically purred with appreciation as he grinned and wriggled. "Can't wait to see it!"

"I know, baby," Steve said, toying with his hair. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Would be fantastic, yeah," Tony said with a yawn. "What're we having?"

"Well, I'd like to cook for you. I'm not Phil, but I know how to put bacon in pancakes, so..."

"I'm sold," Tony said immediately, sitting up. "You're a godsend, Cap."

"I love you too," Steve said with a smile. Tony leaned over to kiss him, slow and sweet and easy. Steve smiled wider, holding him steady and deepening the kiss.

"I'll taste even better after I've had pancakes, I'm sure," Tony said, waggling his eyebrows playfully. Steve rolled his eyes and whapped him lightly upside the head as Tony yelped.

"You're a fantastic man in the mornings," Steve said, kissing his cheek. "Let's get some coffee into you, baby."

"Sounds like a plan," Tony agreed, letting Steve help him out of bed.

...

Bruce came down to find almost everyone already at the table except for Steve and Tony; he hugged his robe tighter around his chest, his arms defensive across his body.

"Ah, Bruce," Phil said, making him start, cringing violently. "Just the man we were looking for."

His heart seized up and he swallowed, glancing for the door. This was it. They'd finally gotten sick of him. He was going to go now, and Ross would find him, and—

"Thor was hovering around me all morning trying to make me teach him how to make pancakes properly," Phil said, sounding both thoroughly amused and exasperated. "I'm pretty sure you're our last taste-tester."

"What about Steve and Tony?" Bruce asked, hesitant. Just because they were being nice now didn't change anything. He'd find some way to make them angry later. He was bad like that.

"Steve is making me pancakes," Tony announced as he came in, a pleased smirk on his face. "With bacon in them."

"I will have to try that next time," Thor murmured, awed. "It sounds like a magnificent combination."

"Not without supervision you're not," Phil muttered before gesturing for Bruce to sit. "Bruce, do you want any right now? Or are you not hungry?"

"Oh—oh, I—no, it's fine," he said, relief flooding his body at the fact that no one seemed to be angry at the moment. "I'm...I'm hungry, yes. I'll try it."

Thor beamed. Bruce smiled, vague and hesitant. He didn't know what to make of the god at all anymore.

He didn't know what to make of the enormous stack of pancakes that had been plunked down in front of him, either. It was so tall he couldn't see anyone else; just miles of fluffy, crispy circles with lattices of lace on their tops, fried a dark brown in the butter.

"Now you see why I had to supervise," Phil said, shaking his head. "He was insistent, though. He said you've been looking peaky."

From the way Phil said it, he thought the same thing.

Bruce sighed and took the first pancake off the top of the stack, cutting into it with raised eyebrows and a shake of his head.

Tony sat down with a satisfied little hum, watching as Steve made breakfast. He poured out the batter and put the bacon slices on top of them, pouring more batter atop the slices.

"Do you want me to make your coffee?" Tony piped up, suddenly seized by a desire to do something. Steve smiled.

"It's all right," he promised him. "Honestly."

"May I please make your coffee?" Tony pleaded. The word please should've stuck in his throat by all rights, and it almost did, but Steve could always get it out of him.

Steve put the spatula down for a second and swallowed like he was trying to control his breathing.

"Of course, baby," he said. "Go right ahead."

Tony hummed and stood up, a little triumphant as he went to brew a new pot of coffee. Steve just continued to make the pancakes, his face pink.

 


	22. Date Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Clint have a date; Phil and Steve have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry  
> It, I just--Pokemon.  
> I haven't put it down in two days.   
> Also I had a lot of other things to do i'm so sorry here please take this and forgive me

Once breakfast was cleared, Steve caught Phil just as he was leaving and whispered, " _When can we talk?"_

"I'm going out with Clint this morning," Phil said, "so after that?"

Steve nodded, relieved, and murmured, "Thank you." Phil put a hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever problem you're having, it's not as big a deal as you think it is," he said, his voice gentle. "You'll be fine. We'll sort it out."

Steve relaxed a bit and nodded, shooing Phil off. "Have fun on your date, agent."

"I intend to," Phil said with a pleased little hum, heading downstairs to meet Clint. Steve smiled as he watched him go before turning around to go find Tony.

Bruce bolted up for the lab; Thor hung back, a frown on his face. Natasha put a hand on his shoulder.

"Give him space, big boy," she told the god. "He needs the break. Go up around lunchtime and bully him into eating."

At Thor's horrified look, she amended, "Gently. Gentle bullying is the sort of love he needs right now."

"I see," Thor said, though his face was still creased with a frown. "What about you, lady Natasha? Where will you be today?"

"Oh, Pepper said she needed my help in the office," Natasha said with an amused little smile, soft and fond. "I doubt she needs me to file paperwork, but it's a good excuse, wouldn't you agree?"

"I would, I suppose," Thor said, though he had no idea what the lady Natasha was talking about. She just kissed his cheek and left with a cheery little wave.

Thor sighed, picked up his hammer, and decided to go out and see if he could do any good while he waited to help the fragile little man hiding away from him upstairs.

...

Clint folded his legs up and looked out over the park, tilting his head like a baffled bird. Coulson kissed his cheek.

"Sir, there a reason we came out to sit in the dirt and watch kids run around?" Clint said, shooting him a look. Coulson rapped his knuckles on their picnic basket.

"To eat lunch in peace, for one," he said. "Two, don't you remember what I promised you?"

Clint continued to look at him, entirely baffled. Coulson smiled, vague and mysterious.

"You know, darling," he said, "when we—"

The rest was whispered into Clint's ear, turning him bright pink.

" _Oh,"_ he said. "You—you really meant it?"

"Clint," Coulson said, rubbing his hair gently, "of course I did. Just because I said it while we were doing _that_ doesn't mean I didn't mean it."

"Oh, uh, I didn't...mean that," Clint mumbled, "I mean, that, uh, not that you were bad or something, but, uh, uhm. I trust you, I promise. Please, I'll be good."

"You're fine, you're fine," Coulson soothed him, kissing his forehead. "I know why you're surprised, princess. We haven't had much in the way of official dates, have we?"

"M'sorry," Clint whimpered, his hands fisting in the blanket like an anchor as his chest heaved, frantic. "I'm sorry, I am, really, honest, I don't lie, I'm not bad, honest—"

"Ssh, ssh. _Clint._ Down, Clint. Lay down," Phil commanded him, sharpening his tone enough to give an order but not angry enough to spook him. Clint did as he was told, sinking into the blanket and closing his eyes.

"You're okay," Phil told him. "You're working yourself up over nothing, my princess. Breathe. You're okay."

Clint swallowed, rolled his shoulders back, and laid down on the blanket with a heavy exhale.

"My little princess," Phil said, tender and soft as he stroked Clint's hair away from his forehead. "My little sweet princess. Are you okay now? Can you breathe?"

"Yeah," Clint said, flicking his tongue out and licking his lips hesitantly. "Okay. I'm okay. Real sorry, Phil."

"No, don't apologize," Phil said, rubbing little circles into his stomach and shushing him. "You've done nothing wrong. It's okay. Lay down. We're okay."

Clint did just that. Phil gave him plenty of time to lay down and look up at the clouds, or roll over on his side to watch the children that ran past on the asphalt path cut through the grass.

Eventually, he lifted himself up enough to climb into Phil's lap a bit, his head snug on his lap and his eyes closed in contentment. Phil rubbed his shoulders idly and continued to keep his silence.

"I'm okay," Clint said after another few minutes. Phil nodded, moving up to toy with his hair.

"Why did you get scared, princess?" he asked. Clint shrugged.

"Was worried you might think I didn't trust you," he said, "or that I thought you were a bad boyfriend 'cause we didn't go on dates or some crap. I didn't want to lose you 'cause I couldn't put my thoughts together right."

He smiled, dark and brittle. "Sometimes I think I should've gone to school. Maybe then I wouldn't have been so stupid. But I dunno. I'm pretty stupid. Don't think it would've changed much."

"First off, you're not stupid," Phil said, his voice stern. "You've survived a lot that most people wouldn't, and you're a brilliant fighter in a crisis, Clint. Stop it."

Clint wilted. Phil sighed. "I'm not angry. But I'm not going to let you call yourself stupid, either."

"Okay," Clint mumbled. Phil ruffled his hair.

"You're my brilliant little boy, you know that," he said. "Clint, listen. I know you well enough to know what you mean. You're not used to a real relationship, right?"

"Yessir," Clint said, occasionally meeting Phil's eyes. Phil didn't insist on the contact; Clint looked terrified enough every time their eyes met.

"And you're not sure about what you can ask me to do, right?" Phil continued. Clint nodded.

"Yessir," he agreed.

"And you trust me, but you're scared, and the idea of figuring out all the reasons you're scared is the scariest thing of all, right?" Phil said.

"Yessir," Clint said, verging on tears.

"Okay," Phil said. "Then here's what we're going to do. We're going to sit here and have a nice lunch and go on a walk through the park. Then we're going to go home, get the car, and go out for dinner. And then I'm going to stop by our favorite store and pick up the ice cream you like before we go home for dessert. And after all that, I'm going to give you a bath and then put you in bed before we make love. When that's done, I hope I'll have managed to convey the honest truth; you can ask _anything_ of me, Clint. I'd give you the world."

He kissed his forehead. "Plus, that's about all I know about 'real dates,' so you'll have to forgive me on that one. I'm ninety percent sure they're mostly good food and lots of kisses."

"Sounds good to me," Clint mumbled. There were tears in his eyes, but they didn't hurt like they had before.

"Wonderful," Phil said, beaming. "Then when you're up to it, we're going to talk about what bothers you and how we can fix it. Together. Not as submissive and dominant, but as partners. Okay?"

"Okay," Clint said, before pushing his face into Phil's shoulder and closing his eyes. Phil stroked his hair and said nothing about the sudden dampness soaking into his skin.

...

The walk through the park made them both feel much more at ease; being in public as boyfriends wasn't something they were used to, and they were well aware they were nothing like the pretty spindly teenage boys who kissed the corners of each others' mouths, or the girls who hung onto each other and nuzzled each others' cheeks, curtains of hair hiding their kisses from prying eyes.

Phil was wryly aware of the fact that he looked more like a mild-mannered accountant than someone who could and had once gutted someone with a letter opener. Clint stalked beside him like a tiger, and it made Phil feel like one of those silver-screen actresses from before color had bled into films, leading one of her cheetahs around on a diamond leash. Clint's leash was actually a deep plum with a few silver studs on the end, but the point remained.

Clint eventually soothed himself enough to keep pace, and the tiger lowered his hackles enouh so that he could take Phil's hand. They walked for a little while, almost hesitant. Not that they didn't think they could take anyone who harrassed them with their eyes closed, but the idea of someone spoiling the peace they'd found worried them more than some stares or rude words.

Still, this was the New York where Doctor Doom made more regular appearances than the garbage men, and Galactus played bridge with Kang on Tuesdays. Phil started to wonder why he'd worried. Clint just beamed, relieved.

"It's nice here," Clint said. "I take it back. We should come here more often. Maybe we could even take one of the kids."

"Clint," Phil said with a groan.

"What? What do they cost, like, ten bucks? I can totally buy us a kid."

"You don't need to," Phil said, buying them both a pretzel from one of the food carts to split before turning around to give him a look. "I have six already."

"Oh, right," Clint said, before it dawned on him and he yelped in protest. Phil just kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Love you too," Clint said with a little playful growl as he bit into his half of the pretzel. Phil stroked his hair and nodded before leaning in to kiss him.

The two of them walked around the park until the sun began to dip beneath the trees; Phil kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair.

"Come on, princess," he said, "let's head home."

They did just that, hand in hand, Phil humming quietly. Clint listened for a little while before hesitantly, gently, he began to pick up the tune.

"Fantastic," Phil said, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Look at you, princess. You're brilliant."

Clint hummed and nodded. Phil started up again until they entered the tower, reaching the elevator. He turned to Clint and kissed his forehead.

"Princess, go upstairs and shower," he said. "Put on something nice you think I'd like, and I promise I'll love it. I'll be ready in a few minutes; I just promised Steve I'd talk to him."

"Mmkay," Clint agreed, getting into the elevator with Phil. He got Clint settled on their floor before getting back in the elevator.

"JARVIS? Where's Steve?" he asked.

" _He is up in the lab with Anthony, but I can tell him you wish to speak with him,"_ JARVIS said. Phil nodded.

"Right," he said, pressing a button. "Tell him to meet me in the living room?"

" _As you wish, sir,"_ JARVIS said. Phil rode down the floors with a little hum, mimicking the way Clint had hummed along to the tune, and watched as the elevator doors opened to reveal Steve, sitting on the couch and twiddling with his thumbs.

"Hi," Steve said. "Sorry. I took the stairs."

"Right," Phil said with a little laugh. "It's fine, Steve. I can talk for a bit, but Clint and I decided to, ah, extend our date some. Is this a long discussion?"

"I don't think it should be," Steve said. "And honestly, it's all right. Clint needs that kind of spoiling. He's like a sponge for attention and affection."

"You've noticed," Phil said. Steve shrugged.

"I'm observant, is all," he said. "And Clint's always reminded me a bit of Bucky. Bucky was...he was the same way."

Phil gave Steve a moment to his silence before the Captain rubbed his temples and said, "Okay. So. I don't want Tony to wear a collar. Or a leash. And I can't get through to him on that."

"Steve, collars and leashes are pretty basic," Phil said. "Unless Tony's asking for a choke chain or anything like that, you should be fine. You won't hurt him."

"That's what _he_ said," Steve grumbled, "but I don't like it."

"Okay," Phil said, "why?"

"It's not just the collars and leashes, though those are bad..." Steve trailed off and sighed. "I saw whips on the site he asked me to visit. I can't hurt him like that. I can't imagine ever...ever being like _them."_

"Well, first off, being into whips doesn't make you a Nazi, but I see your point," Phil said. "It's a personal issue with you and I'm sure Tony will respect that, given your reasons. But Steve..."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen, not all toys are created equal. It's not like using a collar is the same thing as using a flail. They don't even have the same function, Steve."

"But it's...it's just, the general idea of, I mean..." Steve sighed. "I don't want to treat Tony like lesser-than. Like he's some kind of slave of mine, or something less than wonderful. Because I'm getting vibes from him that people have done that before, and often. And it _bothers me."_

"It should," Phil agreed. "I'm with you on that. I'm pretty sure Tony was abused at some point in his life by his dominants. You can talk to him about it when he's ready. But..."

He shook his head. "Listen to Tony on this one. I promise you, as a dominant with a bit more experience, he might've had bad experiences, but the collar has nothing to do with them. If he's asking you for one, he wants one. Trust him. I know that normally goes the opposite way, but it _is_ meant to work both ways, Steve."

Steve sighed. Phil patted his shoulder. "Look, set limits now. Tell him what you're explicitly uncomfortable with, like the whips. Frankly, I'm sure Tony will be relieved you're not interested in drawing blood. But please trust me on the collar. If Tony asked for it, he wants it. Try it before you demonize it."

"All right," Steve agreed with a nod. "I'll talk to him. Thank you, Phil."

"No trouble," he said. "And listen—if Tony's not ready to talk about his past...don't think it means he loves you any less."

"I'm sure," Steve replied, because he could see a little twinge of hurt in Phil's eyes. "They do plenty of other things to show you they love you, right?"

"Yeah," Phil agreed, his voice rough. "I'm going to go see if he's dressed. Be good to him, Captain."

"I will be," Steve promised. "You two have fun on your date."

Phil nodded, leaving the room about as quickly as was polite. Steve didn't mind; the reason Phil saw fit to bolt wasn't related to him. Besides, he had somewhere he wanted to be, and quickly.

Steve turned and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time.


	23. Chinese Takeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony have a talk, and then things get out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, fun porny fluff.  
> I have a terrible feeling I forgot some plotty bits way back when, which means there's some editing and extra plot chapters to be added in shortly, (I transferred computers awhile back, which is my excuse for being an idiot with where I'd updated last.) So have some fun fluff and porn and also some serious talk.  
> Well, I mean, I don't see Steve as being big on the whole humiliation or domination part of being a dominant due to that whole being a big noble puppy thing. So Tony has a lot of explaining to do, which is obviously not fun for anyone involved. Hope you enjoy! (And don't worry, it's resolved with a happy ending. I mean, this is a fluffy romance at its core.)  
> There is some discussion of abuse involved here though, please skip if it bothers you!

 Tony looked up to see Steve standing in the doorway of the lab, a hesitant little smile on his face.

"Sorry," he said, "I just wanted to talk to Phil about something."

"Oh? Cool," Tony said, putting his computer screen to the side and giving him a look, cocking his head. "So, what about?"

"Oh, nothing major," Steve said. "Do you mind if I talk to you about it, too?"

"Nah," Tony said, hefting himself up onto the desk and crossing his legs. "I'm all ears, Cap."

Steve's eyes softened as he regarded Tony, who was watching him so intently with wide eyes and a tilted head. He came over and, for a second, forgot what he'd wanted to say in favor of kissing Tony's face a few times, gentle and soft. Tony snuggled into the kisses and hummed, content.

"Tony," Steve began, with a deep sigh, "You know I fought in the war."

"Well, yeah," Tony said. "What's this about?"

"There were...there was...sometimes, the Commandos and I chased the Skull to places like...these horrible places where..." Steve paused, frowned, and shook his head. "Tony, do you know what concentration camps are?"

"Well, yeah," Tony said, his tone becoming a bit heavier with confusion. "Steve, what's that got to do with anything?"

"The men who ran those were just—those _people,_ they _hurt_ innocent human beings, and—and I—" Steve massaged his temples, startlingly aware that he had no idea how he was handling this. "I can't...do the same things to you that they did to the people they thought they owned."

"Is this about the collar?" Tony said, giving him a look. "Steve, I promise, the collar doesn't have to hurt me or choke me or anything. It's just a little symbol to show I belong to you."

"But that's exactly what they thought," Steve said, running his hands through his hair and shuddering. "That they could _own_ people. That these people were less than human, so of course they could—"

Tony shushed him, putting his hands on Steve's cheeks.

"Relax," Tony soothed him. "Listen, first off, do I look like a Holocaust victim to you?"

"No," Steve replied, "but you look like someone who's been hurt before, and often."

Tony didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"I just don't want to hurt you," Steve finally broke the silence, "the way whoever came before me hurt you. I don't care that people _did;_ I care that they hurt you."

Tony was still silent. Steve rubbed his shoulders and gently eased him to his knees, settling his head in his lap. Steve scratched his scalp lightly and toyed with his hair, murmuring soothingly until Tony's eyes were closed and his shoulders had relaxed.

"Listen to me," Steve said, his voice gentle and tender. "I'll never look down on you for being hurt. I would like to talk about it, when you're willing. But we need to set some ground rules for our relationship, so we both know it won't end up like those others. Okay?"

"Okay," Tony mumbled. Steve nodded.

"Good, good," he said. "Okay. The rules are pretty simple. I won't enact violence on you. I won't slap you, hit you, kick you, or choke you. Not only am I vehemently against those things in general, I don't even want to _think_ about what I could do, considering the serum."

"What about spanking?" Tony asked, looking up. "I do want that, Steve."

"Okay, well..." Steve sighed. "Err...let's give that one a test run before I say anything. But don't be afraid of using your safeword when you try it."

"Right," Tony agreed. "Does 'cognac' sound like a good one?"

Steve gave him a look. Tony grinned. "Well, I don't drink nearly as much anymore with you around, so it's a word I don't really say often."

Steve's face softened and he leaned down to press a kiss to Tony's forehead. "Okay, then."

"Also, hey, listen for a sec," Tony said, "just because I use my safeword once doesn't mean we can't ever do it again. Whatever 'it' is. Sometimes I'm just not feeling it; sometimes I'm tired, or worn out, or whatever. Let me explain before you start banning every kink in the book."

"Right," Steve said with a sigh. "I won't, promise."

Tony perked up and purred a bit, nuzzling Steve's thigh. Steve rubbed the nape of his neck idly before continuing.

"The next thing is, I'm not going to hurt you," Steve said, his voice firm. "Not with weapons. Whips and canes and flails and paddles count as weapons to me. I won't be responsible for giving you bruises or spilling your blood."

"Okay, but here's the thing, you're strong," Tony told him. "So I'm fine with a few bruises. As long as they're taken care of and not done on purpose and I get kisses afterwards. Is that good?"

"Yes," Steve said with a sigh of relief. "Phil mentioned aftercare. I'll look into it."

"Okay," Tony said, "so, anything else?"

"Not on my end," Steve said. "I'm willing to try the collar, leash, and the spanking, and if you've got no problems with cuffs, I'm all right with them, too. Just as long as we're careful."

He gestured to Tony. "Though I would like to know what _you're_ not okay with. I want to make sure I won't do something that would accidentally trigger you."

"Where'd you learn _that_ word?" Tony said, raising an eyebrow.

"I was talking to Phil a few months ago about how best to handle some of our more vulnerable members," Steve replied. "He gave me the word and explained it in our talk."

"Oh, cool," Tony said with a yawn. "Anyways, seriously, it's not really impor—"

"Tony, don't ever tell me something concerning you isn't important ever again," Steve said, his voice suddenly stern and sharp. "Is that clear?"

Tony flinched. Steve rubbed his fingers lightly in Tony's hair until he nodded. He sighed and kissed Tony's forehead.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he apologized, "but don't brush yourself off. Please tell me."

"It's stupid," Tony said, "and embarrassing. I let...I let a lot of people trick me into thinking I liked them. And...bad stuff happened."

"I bet," Steve said, his heart aching. "But I don't think of you as weak for it, Tony, you know that? How could I? You're here with me right now after all that. You did good, baby. You did the best you could."

Tony climbed up into Steve's lap wordlessly and let the other man cuddle him with ferocious abandon. Steve kissed him and shushed him and stroked his hair as he rocked him, careful and slow.

"Just be gentle," Tony murmured, "and cuddle me afterwards. I'm clingy."

"I'm glad," Steve said. "Any excuse to get to hold you."

"You see right through me," Tony said with a little hum. "It's...hard to talk about, but also, I trust you not to go too far. Give me time?"

"All the time you need," Steve replied. Tony nodded.

"Good," he said. "So then, uh, how about tomorrow we go on a nice date? And we just...take it from there?"

"Sounds good to me," Steve said, rubbing his back. "How about for now we just go get some dinner and come upstairs to watch a movie?"

"Yeah, okay," Tony said. "Hey, Cap, can you carry me?"

"Easily," Steve said with a little smile, kissing his forehead as he picked him up. "What do you feel like for dinner?"

"Would you kill me if I said cheap Chinese?" Tony asked as they descended the stairs. Steve laughed.

"No, because I'm pretty much always in the mood for that," he told him. "It's the most American thing I can think of."

The two of them were in hopeless little giggles as they made it into the kitchen, kissing each other in between delighted little puffs of laughter.

The two of them placed the order and spent their time waiting kissing each other on the counter. Steve took his hands and put them on Tony's hips, preventing him from moving as he kissed his neck and shoulders. Tony squirmed and shivered, but his muted little protest was cut off when Steve lightly bit and nibbled at his neck.

"I'm going to leave my mark on you," Steve said, "big and red and sloppy, and then you're going to go downstairs and pick up the takeout for me. Right, baby?"

"Yes, Steve," Tony promised, his breath hitching in his throat as he clung to his lover. "But, um, what if...what if I'm, you know..."

"Then that's your problem, isn't it?" Steve said, giving him a wicked grin Tony firmly thought should have been outlawed by now. "Unless you're willing to ask for help fixing it. Good boys know when to ask for help, don't they?"

Whoever had possessed his boyfriend and made him a rampaging sex demon was going to get a hefty sum of cash as soon as Tony figured out who they were. Natasha, probably. He could always bet on Natasha.

"I, uh..." Tony moaned as Steve lifted up his shirt and began to nuzzle his pecs before licking his nipples, keeping a gentle hand over the arc reactor as he did. "Jesus, oh god...Steve, holy fuck, where did you learn how to...oh my fucking god..."

"Watch your mouth, mister, or you'll get a spanking," Steve warned him, and Tony could barely breathe.

"Fucking fuck shit, if you don't fucking, fuck, fuck me..." Tony groaned, trying and failing to move his hips. Why was Steve's big, warm, stupid hand so strong?

"You get one more warning before I send you downstairs with a bright red ass," Steve warned him. "Clean up your mouth, you little brat."

Tony shivered and pushed his face into Steve's neck. As much as he wanted a spanking, he was still scared. They were going too far, and Steve had just been so worried...

"I'll behave," he promised. "No spankings. I'll be good."

Steve kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair. "Good baby. I knew you could. You're my good baby boy, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," Tony agreed, the words tumbling out before he knew how to stop them. "Could you help me, please?"

"Help you with what, baby?" Steve said, his tone gentle and innocent. Tony licked his lips, his mind shifting, fogging up until the only thing that remained was his dom, hovering above him.

"My cock hurts," Tony said. "Please help me, I'm really hard and it hurts. Fix it? Please?"

"Oh, of course," Steve breathed, kissing his cheek. "Anything for my baby boy. Anything he wants. And just what he needs."

Steve slipped his hand into Tony's pants and cupped his erection, thumbing it gently. For a second, he hesitated; this was all so new to him, and he was caught up in this whirlwind rush of desire. He didn't want to get lost in it.

But Tony looked so happy, so at ease and content, and Steve felt good when he touched him, so his fears would have to wait.

He jacked Tony off with big, broad strokes of his hand over Tony's cock, working him over until Tony came with a soft yelp all over his shirt. He blushed bright red and looked up at Steve.

"Please help," he said. "I don't want to go downstairs in this."

"Wear my shirt, baby," Steve said, pulling it over his head and helping Tony out of his shirt and into Steve's. "You're okay. You did so good. I love the noises you make when you come."

He bit down gently on Tony's hickey and patted his bottom as JARVIS intoned, " _Sir, the food is here."_

"Right," Steve said. "Thank you, JARVIS. Tony, go down and get it, won't you?"

His face bright red, Tony nodded and obeyed, leaving the kitchen as Steve smiled, hummed, and began to clean the countertops.

The woman who delivered the food looked confused, but simply complimented his shirt; Tony stuffed a few hundred dollar bills in with the rest of the money for that. He headed upstairs with a little content hum, setting the takeout on the counter as Steve regarded him, his face pink.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I don't know what came over me."

"Me neither, but I liked it," Tony said. "Trust me. You were good to me and made me feel good. Don't make this out to be something bad, okay?"

"Okay," Steve agreed, hanging his head. "Still. I'd like to go on an official date together before we go further. Is that all right?"

"Sure, long as I can keep wearing this," Tony said, tugging on the shirt. "Sit down and eat, Cap."

Steve beamed, settling in next to him and feeding him bites of his dinner off his fork, a smile on his face.

Tony cuddled close and let Steve feed him bites for awhile, laying his head on his lover's shoulder in between bites. Steve stroked his hair before moving down to the nape of his neck, rubbing the skin in little circles. Tony tilted his head back and yawned.

"Clint gets fed on his knees," Tony mentioned, almost conversational; it would’ve worked, but his voice trembled. "I came in for a snack once and Phil had him on the floor with a pillow underneath him. I bolted pretty quick, though; snacks could wait, and it was kind of awkward."

"I can imagine," Steve said with a wince. "How did it make you feel, Tony?"

"The idea of it was nice," Tony said, his tone a little dazed and dreamy. "Phil looked really happy to be where he was, and so did Clint."

"You've never had a dominant do that for you?" Steve asked, tilting his head. Tony shrugged and snorted.

"Steve, I took dominants when I wanted to go on a diet," he said. "Food was the first thing I got deprived of."

For a second, Steve saw pure, absolute red, and thought in a haze, _what a wonderful color._

When he could see beyond the crimson edges of his vision, Tony had inched away from him, wide-eyed and shoulder turned slightly away. Steve swallowed and shook his head.

"You can relax, baby," he said. "I'm just fine. I promise. I'd just like you to know that I'm not ever going to deprive you of food. I know what that's like. It's a horrible thing, isn't it?"

Tony nodded, still not meeting his eyes. Steve wanted to take him into his arms and kiss him.

"You're okay," he said, his voice gentle. "You're just fine. You're always going to have a good, full belly as long as I'm around, baby. Ssh. You're okay. Look at me."

Tony did as he was told, watching him with a hesitant, fearful look. Steve reached out and ran a hand through his hair.

"You liked the idea, huh?" he asked. Tony nodded, his throat working reflexively. Steve smiled. "Okay. Well, there's still food here. And the living room has plenty of big cushy pillows."

He waited to see what Tony chose. Dominant or not, he knew there were times Tony had to be the one to decide for himself.

Tony got up and got a pillow from the living room, settling it in next to Steve before sinking down onto it and opening his mouth up wide.

Steve leaned down and gave him a kiss before popping a bite of food in his mouth.


	24. Someplace Italian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper and Natasha go out on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this might be a few days late; I completely lost track of time when it came to midterms. I have a lull until the finals grind, and I will be posting more oneshots and short pieces until then! Thank you for being patient guys, and I'm sorry college has affected my update schedule.  
> See, I wanted every sort of d/s relationship to get covered in this; the kinds that are about emotional healing and serious psychological issues, the ones about control and giving up control to feel safe and calm, and--well, the ones that are just a fun sometimes kink with your hot partner. Because there's nothing wrong with being into d/s just for that. :3

While the boys had their dinner, Natasha sat across from her lover and debated where, exactly, she had failed.

Because she had. She wasn't an idiot. She read emotions for a living, and Pepper was the first serious lover she'd had in years; there was nothing the other woman could hide from her.

She had failed her lover and failed in this relationship. The dinner she had thought might fix things was only making it all worse.

"Pepper," she murmured, after a good ten minutes where they refused to meet the other's eyes, "are you breaking up with me?"

It hurt. The thought of not having the redhead in her bed hurt. She was so soft at her core, and the stern, uncompromising woman that had been built around that core entranced her as much as the soft, yielding vulnerability only she was privilege to.

"What?" Pepper said, looking up and blinking, wide-eyed with shock. "What? What, I'm sorry, _what?"_

"You can't look at me," Natasha murmured. She was shocked at how pathetic she sounded. The only person who could reduce her to this was Pepper; she couldn't lose her. She would lose this raw, emotional part of herself with her.

"Oh, I...well, I thought you were breaking up with _me,"_ Pepper mumbled. Natasha would've  laughed if this hadn't all been completely ridiculous.

"Pepper, I took you out to dinner because I was worried about you, not because I'm breaking up with you," she said, keeping her voice gentle. "I know you've been having...issues...lately, and I'm willing to bet it's about our relationship. Would you like to talk?"

"Right," Pepper said. "Right, talking. That I can do. Talk. Okay."

She inhaled, put her hands on the table, and squeezed it for support before she opened her mouth.

"I'm not scared of you or anything," she said. "It's just...this relationship, and all this stuff, they're both really new to me. I mean...I was pretty sure I was over and done with men, because Tony Stark does that to almost any woman he meets. But to meet someone like you—like, I mean, when I thought you were just an office worker, you were still the most impressive woman I'd ever met."

She smiled, vague and sad. "And now? Now that I know who the great Natasha Romanova is, and what she does? I mean...it's scary. I can't compete with an Avenger, with _the_ Black Widow. I'm not nearly half as brave or heroic or...whatever. I'm a PA who got a lucky promotion because her boss thought he was dying. I'm not 'you' material."

Natasha sighed. Damn it. For all her skill at reading people, how could she have not noticed such severe feelings of inadequacy? It was her folly. Pepper was better at putting up masks and dissembling than she could have possibly imagined.

"Okay," Natasha said, "let's talk about this. First off, recall when we first met. When you didn't know who I was, but I knew who you were. I knew all about you. And yet, we became friends."

"Well, it could've just been for cover, I mean, was it? I mean—"

"Do you honestly think," Natasha said, her voice suddenly sharpening, "that those nights at your apartment with movies and wine, where we shared popcorn, and, after you'd had a few glasses of wine, kisses, too—do you think that was my cover?"

Pepper didn't answer, her hands shaking. Natasha pressed on.

"Do you think that the days where it was just the two of us in that office, and you broke down in tears from stress and panic and fear, because you _knew_ something was wrong with Tony, he hadn't given you the job for no reason, and when you cried out of fear, for both yourself and for him, I held you and stroked your hair and promised you safety and stability—do you think that was my cover? Do you think I did that to keep up some bullshit charade?"

Pepper looked on the verge of tears. Natasha continued on regardless.

"The only cover I had was a changed name," she said. "Everything I did for you was real. I couldn't hide myself from you, Pepper. For a person who has spent their entire life hiding who they were to serve the needs of others, you have to realize how important you are to me. Because you are. I promise."

She cupped her cheek and shook her head. "You are not Tony's PA. You were never his PA. You were his hero. You were his savior. You were everything he needed for almost a decade of his life. He has Steven now. But he has never stopped needing you; you give him stability, you ensure his business continues to function so he might continue to be Iron Man, to juggle his responsibilities better by having you as CEO."

Natasha gave her a look. "Consider this; he gave it to _you_ when he was dying. I do not see that as an insult, or a cruelty. I see that as the highest compliment a man like Tony can muster. When he was dying, he trusted his life's work, his legacy, everything he and his family had built up for generations—he put it all in your hands, and asked you to take good care of it. Because he trusted you. With all his heart and soul."

Pepper was bawling silently, tears pouring down her face as she clenched her jaw. If she breathed, she would break down. Natasha cupped her cheek.

"Now tell me you're just a PA," she said. "Tell me you're 'just' Pepper Potts. Tell me that we don't think you're our hero, too. Tony and I, and everyone else."

"Can't," Pepper managed to rasp out. "Gonna cry."

"Then I think I've proved my point," Natasha said, stroking her hair. "Don't cry, beloved. We'll talk about everything else when we get home. Just enjoy dinner, love. You ordered prosciutto with melon. Isn't that your favorite?"

Pepper nodded, wiping at her eyes. Natasha held her hand over the table and squeezed. "You're all right. Sit down, love. Let's just talk."

And so they did; the talk was all prattle, innocuous things, but neither of them minded. After everything that had transpired, that seemed more like a kindness than anything.

Coffee came, eventually, and Natasha ordered for them both; Pepper smiled, blushing. The reminder that her lover knew her that well soothed her. Still...they had even more to talk about, which may have hurried their coffee talk on a bit.

They got into the car together, and the second they did, Natasha covered Pepper's face and neck with bruising kisses, her teeth nipping against Pepper's shoulder and making her breath hitch.

"We'll speak of it when we're at home," Natasha breathed against the blooming hickey. "Come along, Pepper."

"Yes, Natasha," she said, sitting down next to her as they sped home.

She sat with her head on Natasha's shoulder for the entire drive home; Natasha drove as quickly as she could through the streets, given that it _was_ New York traffic. Pepper just hummed, drumming her fingers idly on Natasha's thigh as she drove.

They entered the Tower and Natasha called, "JARVIS? Boys in bed?"

" _Yes, madam,"_ JARVIS said. " _They're all asleep."_

Natasha and Pepper raised twin eyebrows of confusion.

"Even Tony?" Pepper said.

" _Even Tony,"_ JARVIS confirmed, sounding pleased. " _Steven made sure of that."_

The two of them shared a grin.

"Oh, I'll bet he did," Pepper said with a laugh. "Good for them."

"Yes, I suppose," Natasha agreed. "Now, up to our floor. You need sleep, and we still need to talk."

"Right," Pepper agreed, letting Natasha lead her into the elevator and hold her hand as they headed up the stairs.

They made it into their bedroom and Pepper had just enough time to shut the door before Natasha pointed at her clothes and said, "Strip."

Pepper undressed, her fingers fumbling on buttons and zippers out of nervousness. Natasha normally selected her something silky or lacy for bed; when she looked up, there was a huge, worn Guinness Beer shirt in her hands.

Pepper pulled it on over her head and smiled, relieved, as Natasha dressed in a red tee shirt and grey pants before climbing into bed, patting the space beside her. Pepper climbed in and snuggled close, letting Natasha cup the back of her head and stroke her hair, rubbing her neck.

"Okay," Pepper said, "I don't want to stop being your submissive. Honestly. I just want to talk about this."

"Of course," Natasha said, kissing her neck. "You're unused to this."

"Well, yes," Pepper admitted. "I've never really had...well, I mean, after I became Tony's PA, I stopped having relationships, period. I hated the idea that some creep would be using me as some way to get to Tony. I deserved better, for one, and it was a way of keeping Tony safe. I'd hate if I was in any way responsible for his downfall."

"He'd never blame you, but I understand," Natasha said. "Go on."

"Well, basically, I haven't even had sex since my first year of college, because that was about when I met Tony. Hell, I worked at Stark Industries every summer; paid off my student loans in six months after that. But it did kind of kill my lovelife," Pepper said with a sigh.

"And yet, you and I..." Natasha trailed off as Pepper leaned up to plant a kiss on her lips and smile.

"I was getting to you," she said with a smile. "I took a risk with you, but I wanted to, with all my heart. You're beautiful, Natasha, and stunning, and...and amazing. You're someone reliable and strong, who I can trust. You were worth the risk, and I've never regretted it."

Natasha smiled, hugging her tight. Pepper laid her head on her chest and sighed.

"I know this will sound ridiculous, but I just...I wasn't used to sex, let alone a relationship like this. It's fun, it is, but I guess I'm just..." Pepper trailed off with a sigh, trying to figure out how to put it.

"I love this, I do," she said. "But I guess I just want to know our relationship is more than that. I want to know I'm not 'just' your submissive. Because I'm not like Tony, or Clint, or Bruce. I don't _need_ this; it's fun, and I love playing with you, but I just don't need it like they do. I just want to make sure...that I matter beyond some bedroom games."

Natasha held her close and stroked her back, kissing her forehead.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured. "I should've noticed this was bothering you before. Oh, Pepper, forgive me. I haven't been a very good dominant, let alone a girlfriend."

"You're used to knowing exactly how to read people," Pepper said, kissing her neck. "I don't blame you. You aren't used to intimacy like this, sweetheart. I think it's blinding you to a lot."

"Possible," Natasha said, "but it's still unforgiveable. We'll resolve it. I will be a much better dominant."

She stroked her back. "As for your worth to me, love; you are the first serious relationship I've had in years as well. I shouldn't technically be dating you; fraternization rules and all that."

"Phil and Clint?" Pepper said with a laugh. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"I forgot to mention, the fraternization rules are essentially S.H.I.E.L.D.'s longest standing in-joke," she told her. "We're fine. It helps I'm an Avenger now; a lot less in the way of espionage now that I'm one of the most recognized faces on the planet."

"True," Pepper agreed. "I'm still glad you chose to date me. Really."

"As am I, love," Natasha said, kissing her forehead. "But about our relationship, I will be upfront; I am not here for bedroom games. I am here because I admire you and enjoy being with you. The fact that you are also ridiculously attractive helps."

She smiled at Pepper's giggle and kissed the top of her forehead. "As for your issues, perhaps there is some way I can help?"

"Is it okay if I top?" Pepper asked. "I mean, I do like being your submissive, but topping would be nice. Maybe we could switch back and forth a bit next time?"

"Sounds fine to me," Natasha agreed. "Anything to keep my little pet happy."

Pepper blushed and smiled, burying her face into Natasha's chest. "Okay. I'm definitely happy."

"Then I'm happy to hear it," she said, rubbing behind her ear. "Go to bed, Pepper."

"I will," she promised with a little yawn. "I love you, Natasha."

"I love you too, Pepper," she said, kissing the top of her head and closing her eyes. The two of them dozed off in minutes, smiles on their faces.


	25. Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil shows Clint just how beautiful he finds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get this thing updated is such a pain, I'm sorry. I've finished the second novel, so I'm taking a break for awhile, which means I should have time to do more and finish this up. I want to try to end it in a few more chapters; this already got WAY out of hand as it is.  
> Anyways, here's an enormous, all-porn update as an apology. Thank you all for tolerating my college schedule and lack of time!

Clint adjusted his jacket and looked around the restaurant with wild, hunted eyes, like he was expecting to need his bow any second now. His fingers flexed instinctively as Phil sipped a glass of wine and debated ordering the entire bottle.

"Sweetheart, is something wrong?" he asked. "I took you out here so you could enjoy yourself."

"I know," Clint said, on the verge of whimpering. "I know. I'm sorry. Honest. I'm just...I feel funny."

"Why?" Phil asked, pouring him a glass of wine. Clint didn't drink much, but he saw an opportunity to fuzz his nerves when he saw one. He drank the whole glass before continuing.

"Dunno, sir. I'm an ex-carny and I grew up dirt poor and dirty as hell. I still don't feel like I fit in at some classy Italian restaurant," he apologized.

Phil cupped his cheek and shushed him, shaking his head. "Clint, we didn't come here because of the price tag. We came here because when my grandmother and I had the money, we would take a train into the city and visit this exact restaurant. I loved it here with her, and I wanted to share it with you."

"Sorry," Clint winced, "I'm messing that up."

"You are not," Phil promised. "Just calm down and remember you're okay. I'm here with you. You're all right, Clint."

"Will be," he promised. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," Phil murmured. "I'm glad you can relax. Why don't we just talk?"

"About what?" Clint asked, tilting his head. Phil shrugged.

"I don't know; you've had a lot more time to watch television lately. Anything good on?" he asked. Clint nodded.

"So, there's this show called _Dog Cops,_ and..."

Phil listened to Clint talk, keeping quiet even through the meal as Clint told him about the new shows he was watching, along a lecture on the ins and outs of _Dog Cops_ that felt more like a briefing to Phil. He just smiled and murmured encouragement.

"Am I talking too much, sir?" Clint asked as they looked over the dessert menus. "I'm sorry. I won't. I mean, if you want a turn."

"No, no, I'm fine," Phil said with a reassuring smile. "I'm much happier listening, I assure you. Watching how much you've changed over the past few months still makes me happy."

"Oh, uh, thank you sir," Clint said. "So I'm doing better?"

"You're doing amazingly," Phil promised. "You've become more outgoing, more of a team player, you've softened up around the team...you are improving, Clint. I promise. I'm prouder of you than I've ever been."

"It's really 'cause of you," Clint told him. "You've taken care of me and helped me a lot. I'm just really glad you were around all this time. I mean, I don't think I would've changed much without you there to make it less...y'know, stressful."

"I have faith you would've done well regardless," Phil said. "I believe in you, Clint. I love you. That's what I'm supposed to do."

Clint squeezed his hand underneath the table.

"Thanks, sir," he replied with a little content yawn, tilting his head to the side. "We gonna go home after dessert and cuddle?"

"Did you have anything else in mind?" Phil said, raising an eyebrow. Clint nodded, his face pink.

"I, uh, I'll tell you on the way home," he said, fixating on the tiramisu that had been placed in front of him.

Phil nodded and gave him a reassuring smile, taking his hand and kissing every knuckle before squeezing it, watching Clint relax enough to take a bite of his dessert with a hum of pride.

Clint took his time as Phil ate, watching Phil take a bite or two before taking some of his own. He swallowed with a dutiful little hum, his tongue flicking out on occasion to catch the spills of coffee liqueur that sometimes graced his lips.

"You're beautiful," Phil told him. "I noticed you shrugging that off in the park today. I don't like that, Clint. Someone like you ought to know how amazing he looks."

The light in Phil's eyes made Clint squirm in his seat.

"When we get home," was all Phil said as they finished their coffees, paid, and started off. Clint was practically vibrating with excitement by the time they approached.

Phil led him upstairs through the tower, rubbing the back of Clint's neck with light, gentle fingers, grazing his fingers over a few nasty scars. Clint swallowed and craned his neck, arching his back to let Phil drum his fingertips on them.

"Beautiful," Phil said, his voice firm and inviting no argument. Clint nodded, putting his own hand over Phil's. Phil kissed his cheek as the two of them rode the elevator up the last few flights of stairs to make their way into the bedroom.

"Strip," Phil said. Clint nodded, undoing the buckles and zippers on his outfit as Phil sat on the bed, still fully clothed. Clint was more and more aware of this fact the longer Phil sat there, drumming his fingers on the blankets. He finally stripped down to his briefs and turned back to his dominant. Phil raised an eyebrow.

"I said strip," he said. "I didn't realize the definition of stripping had changed."

Clint blushed and shrugged, rubbing his arm and looking away. "Er, but, sir, you're not undressed. I was gonna wait...for you..."

"A nice gesture, Clint, but I'm not undressed for a reason," Phil said, giving Clint a small smile to let him know he wasn't in trouble. "I'm not going to undress tonight unless you do a few things for me. Do you think you can be a good boy, Clint?"

"For you, sir? Anything," Clint promised with a firm nod. Phil smiled, fond and full, and beckoned him close. Clint stayed where he was long enough to strip out of his briefs and expose his cock to Phil before he made his way over to him. Phil pointed to the floor; Clint sank to his knees immediately, putting his head in Phil's lap.

Phil passed him a pillow to put beneath his knees before he said, "You're getting much better at communication, darling. I'm so proud of you."

"I know you too well, sir," Clint said with a wicked little smile. "It's not hard to figure out what you want from me. I think we work well together."

"We do," Phil agreed, rubbing lightly behind Clint's ear. "I'd like to try the blindfold soon. But not tonight. Tonight, I need you to see yourself."

Clint nodded, and for a few minutes, the two of them sat in content silence, Phil running his fingers through Clint's hair with long, rhythmic strokes. Clint tilted his head back and purred, nuzzling into Phil's touch. His dominant didn't tell him not to, and so Clint continued to rumble and moan, content with the feel of Phil's firm, strong fingers running through his hair.

"Up, princess," Phil said, his fingers leaving Clint's hair. He resisted the urge to whine, knowing it would get him nowhere. He stood up and nodded, doing as Phil asked with his hands behind his back. Phil rubbed his back and led him over to the other edge of the bedroom, where an enormous full-length mirror waited.

"Stand here," Phil said, "and tell me what you see, darling. I think I can trust your eyesight for a bit while I get a few things, can't I?"

"Uh, sure," Clint agreed with a nod. "When do you want me to begin?"

"Any time you're ready," Phil said, his tone pleasant and warm. Clint's stomach curled. When Phil adopted _that_ tone, his ass was either about to get reamed or striped red.

"Okay," Clint said. "Uhm, head. Shoulders. Neck? And my arms...and the veins in them, I guess."

"Clint, princess, you're doing this wrong," Phil said, keeping his tone quiet and gentle. Clint cringed like he'd been punched nonetheless. Phil sighed. "Princess. I need you to tell me the details. The tan, the scars, the veins and where they lead to. Give me a portrait of your body. Paint me a picture."

"I'm no painter, sir," Clint apologized. "I don't think I can, I mean, what if...the words don't come?"

"They will," Phil promised, rifling through their toybox. "Again, Clint. Start with your head."

"Right," Clint said, a doubtful frown cutting his features. "Uh, my hair. It's...honey-colored, I guess. Like that dark honey in the supermarket; the real kind, not the sugary stuff. And my eyes sort of look like...rocks. You know, those rocks with veins of color in them. Sorta grey-green with hazel stuff in them."

He looked back at Phil, cocking his head, his brows furrowed and a frown returning to his features. Phil nodded, giving him a thumbs up as his other hand continued to rattle through their box of toys.

"Okay, so...well, there's my nose. It's all smushed, but I like it. I think it makes me look kinda tough. And my brother had the same nose. So did my mom. So it's a family thing, I guess," Clint said. "And...huh. I have really dark eyelashes."

"Yes you do," Phil agreed. "They're beautiful."

Clint hummed with pleasure as he continued, "My lips are sort of pale, I guess. Yours are much pinker. It's nice."

"They are pink, but this isn't about me," Phil said. "What do you notice about the shape?"

"They look sort of like a bow," Clint said with a grin. Phil laughed.

"I suppose they do," he agreed. "Now, onto your neck. What do you see?"

"Uh, that scar I got in a knife-fight in Beirut," Clint said with a frown. "They were getting too close to the base and I couldn't get a clear shot from the nest."

"Anything else?" Phil asked, pulling something from the toybox and approaching Clint carefully. Clint shrugged his shoulders.

"Some veins, I guess," he said. "And a little birthmark. It's kind of a splotch below my ear."

Phil leaned in close and kissed it. "You're right. I never noticed it. How lovely, Clint darling."

"Thank you," Clint said with a pleased little hum. "I guess it is kinda cool. I just noticed it now."

"Good for you," Phil said. "Now, onto your shoulders and collarbone. And don't mind me, I'm just preparing a few things."

"Okay," Clint said. "So, I guess my collarbone...it's pretty well-defined. I mean, it's there. You could keep change in Tony or Nat's clavicles, but I'm not that bad. And my shoulders look nice."

He craned his neck a bit, blinking. "So, I've got freckles there, and--agh! Jesus, Phil!"

"Relax, love," Phil said, adjusting the cock ring. "And don't squirm. I'm just trying to get this on you before we finish up. It's part of tonight's rules."

"I can't come?" Clint whined. Phil nodded.

"No," he said. "Not until you think you deserve it. And that means you have to get to know the body that's coming, Clint. And you have to realize some things about it."

Clint grimaced. "You're a fucking sadist."

"Most dominants have a streak of it," Phil agreed, patting his bottom. "Keep going, princess. Any scars, markings?"

"Uh, a scar on my shoulder from...from..." Clint swallowed. Phil's hand became cradling, gentle, as he wound his fingers through Clint's.

"From what, princess?" he asked. Clint swallowed again, trying to steady his breathing.

"Got on the bad end of Barney and a bullwhip," he said, trying to laugh. The way his voice cracked cut the laugh to ribbons. Phil growled, low and deep in his throat; Clint would've shrugged it off and laughed at it had Phil not been the one doing it. He could be damn scary when he growled.

"I see," was all he said. "If there are any more scars with a similar origin, let me know as we go."

"Okay," Clint mumbled. "Anyways...not much else. You heard me about the freckles?"

"Yes, I did," Phil promised. "You're adorable."

He pressed a kiss to the little dark freckles flecking Clint's broad shoulders before kissing the scar. It was white and ropy and seemed to pulse with the memory of its injury as Clint whined at the sensation.

"Aah, that's the sensitive part of it," he murmured. "Hurts..."

"My apologies, my love," Phil said, kissing his neck. "Do you feel ready to move down to your arms and chest?"

"Uh, sure," Clint mumbled, his face pink. "Arms first?"

"If you'd like," Phil said, squeezing his hand.

"Well," Clint said with a nod, "they're real nice."

"Yes, they are," Phil said, running his fingers up Clint's arm. "Anything else?"

"Well, uh," Clint said, trying not to shiver at Phil's touch, "they're sensitive, sir. They're so sensitive. Because I use them so much, I guess. I gotta be real careful with them, and I keep lotion on them and stuff."

"I can feel it," Phil replied, tracing his fingers across the veins in Clint's arms. "Tell me a little more about the skin, darling."

"It's tan," Clint said. "The freckles sort of stop around my shoulders, but I'm still tan here. It's really nice; it's sort of...brownish. But paler than my hair."

He smiled and flexed his hands. "Yeah, I'm not that tan. But I'm tanner than Nat. She doesn't go out in the sun without sunblock on."

"Do you like the color of your tan, pet?" Phil asked, rubbing his thumb across Clint's hand. Clint blushed, tilted his head back, and nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I do. It's pretty brown and warm, so it's good. I like the color, but it's definitely gonna fade some when it gets colder."

"I don't mind," Phil said. "Your skin will be beautiful regardless."

"Thank you, sir," Clint said, beaming. "I hope so."

"I know so," Phil said, kissing his wrist. "Tell me about the veins, Clint."

"They're my veins," Clint said, cocking his head. "What's there to tell?"

"Just tell me if it feels good when I do this," Phil said, tracing his fingers up the veins in Clint's arm. "That's all."

Clint shuddered and groaned, beaming as Phil moved his fingers lightly up and down his arm. Phil kissed his cheek. "Does that feel good, princess?"

"Real good," Clint panted, his hips working up into nothing. Phil smiled.

"And why does it feel good?" he asked.

"'Cause you're touching me, sir," Clint breathed. "Only feels good 'cause you're touching me..."

"And I'm touching your body, Clint," Phil said. "Why am I doing that, princess?"

"Because, uh," Clint panted, "you like it?"

"Mm," Phil agreed, kissing his neck. "And why do I like it, Clint?"

"Cause it...it's nice," Clint mumbled. "Because my body is nice?"

"Good boy," Phil praised him. "Perfect. Do you like when I touch your body, Clint? Do you like how your body feels?"

"Yes, sir," Clint said. "I do, I do..."

"Good," Phil said. "Then I'm going to show you how beautiful it is. Keep going, Clint."

Clint allowed himself a sob of frustration as Phil's hands went to his chest.

"It, uh...I like my chest," he groaned as Phil traced lines into it, moving along the lines of his muscle with the tips of his fingers. "It's...pretty ripped, sir."

"You are," Phil praised him, rubbing his hips in slow circles. "I love your chest, Clint. It's gorgeous. Don't you see it?"

"I guess so," Clint said, wrinkling his nose. Phil nodded.

"Well, it's hard to see that sort of thing sometimes," he said. "Move your hands, Clint. Try touching it with me."

Clint nodded, putting his hand on Phil's, his fingers splayed out over his lover's as Phil put his hand at the top of his chest.

"Move it down, princess," Phil said. "I'm giving you some of the control to start. Move your hand down wherever you like."

"I don't know where to touch," Clint said, frowning. Phil kissed his neck.

"Wherever you like," he said. "Try moving down first."

Clint smiled, relieved, and moved his hand down at Phil's instruction. He traced his pectoral, cocking his head and rubbing his fingers along the indents in the muscle, defining his chest and casting shadows.

"Have you ever touched your body, Clint?" Phil asked. He shook his head, his face pink.

"No sir," he replied. "Didn't even masturbate much, sir. I didn't...didn't like touching myself. I didn't like thinking of my scars...or the way other people had touched me."

"Oh, darling," Phil murmured, his voice soft and pained. "Look at yourself, Clint. Take a good long look in the mirror while you do this. I want you to see and feel how lovely you are. I do every day; I don't think you can."

"Yes, sir," Clint agreed, looking up to watch himself in the mirror. He blushed before he could stop himself; the sight of his own body in the mirror, his own hands on his own body...

He moved his hand from his pectoral to his nipple, tweaking and pinching it. He winced, cringing away from the touch. "Ah, sir!"

"It's going to hurt a little when you do things like that, princess," Phil said, kissing his neck. "Be gentle with it if you don't want to hurt yourself. That goes for the rest of your body, too."

Clint nodded, letting Phil play lightly with the nipple when he moved his hand away. He dropped his hand to play with his abdomen; tracing the bumps and contours of his six-pack with an ever-reddening face.

"You look lovely," Phil told him with a smile. "Feel it, Clint? That's a lot of hard work and skill you're touching, princess. You're powerful. Don't forget that. More powerful than whatever frightens you."

"Nah, sir," Clint mumbled. "This just makes me a weapon, s'all."

Phil hushed him, kissing his forehead. "Darling, stop it. You're not a weapon. Your muscles are a part of your body."

He cupped Clint's hand and pressed it flat against his muscle. "You do feel this, don't you?"

"Yeah, sir," Clint said, "I do..."

"Good," Phil said, kissing his neck. "Then tell me how it feels. Not what you see. Not yet."

"Warm," Clint replied, exhaling slowly. "Warm and kind of bumpy, sir."

"That's all right, little one," Phil said, ruffling his hair. "Just warm and kind of bumpy?"

"Yeah," Clint said, nodding. Phil smiled, kissing his neck one more time.

"Okay, princess," he said. "Move your hand a little lower now."

Clint nodded, moving it down to his stomach, tracing around his stomach lines before moving a little lower, so the edge of his hand brushed against his cock.

"When we make love tonight, princess, I want you to keep your hand there," Phil said, kissing his shoulder. "Understand?"

"O-okay," Clint said, his face pink. "Sure, sir. R-right now?"

"Not yet," Phil said. Clint nodded.

"Okay, sir," he said. "Should I, uh, touch my cock now?"

"No, not yet," Phil replied. "I want you to get a look at your whole body first."

"I can't see my back, sir," Clint said with a little laugh. Phil smiled.

"No, you can't," he agreed. "So let me touch it, and tell me how it feels. Is that better, darling?"

"Sounds okay," Clint replied, his face pink. "Sir, I—"

"Hush, it's all right..." Phil said, kissing his shoulder blade and tracing his way down Clint's back. "Your muscles are gorgeous, Clint. Do you know you've always reminded me of a tiger?"

"Ah, uh, no, s-sir," Clint said, arching his back. "We had t-tigers in the circus. I used to feed them, sometimes. I slept with them once when Barney was angry and I was sick. The animal tamer lady was nice, and told them not to hurt me, and they didn't."

"No tiger would hurt one of their sick cubs," Phil said, rubbing his fingers in small circles along Clint's shoulder blades. "How did it feel?"

"Amazing," Clint said, beaming. "Oh, it was the best thing, sir. Honest."

He laughed. "Betcha tigers would eat a sick cub, though. S'the animal kingdom, sir."

Phil tsked and smiled, kissing his shoulder. "Don't be a brat. They didn't eat you, now did they, princess?"

"Well, no," Clint said, groaning as Phil put his whole hand on his back, dragging his fingers down his spine. "Sir, Jesus..."

"Does that feel good?" Phil said, his tone frustratingly innocent. Clint rolled his eyes at him.

"You know full fucking well it feels amazing—ow!"

Phil pulled his hand away from his stinging bottom and gave him a look. "Mouth, Clint."

"Sorry," Clint mumbled. "It _does_ feel good, and you're just teasing me."

"I was genuinely asking, princess," Phil said. "I promise. I was curious. I can't tell with you, sometimes, if it feels good or not, and I worry."

Guilt burned in Clint's chest and he ducked his head as it settled, solid and tight, in his stomach. "Sir, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Phil said, his voice gentle. "No apologies. It's why I asked. Just be honest when I ask, and speak up a little more if you feel comfortable with that?"

"Okay," Clint said, relaxing his shoulders and exhaling. "Thanks, sir."

"No problem," Phil said, returning to his touches. "Does that feel good, Clint? How do you like the feel of your body?"

"Pretty well, sir," Clint said, groaning with delight. "Back feels good when you do that. Could you massage it more, maybe?"

"I'd be delighted to," Phil promised, pressing a kiss to his shoulderblade before kneeling to press a kiss to the dip in his back. "Do you want me to move down?"

"To m-my legs?" Clint asked, his face burning. Phil smiled.

"I'll get to them, too," he promised. "But are you all right if I make a stop on my way?"

"I, um, yeah," Clint said, trying to joke. "I mean, shit, sir, you've had your cock in it. Hands shouldn't be a big deal."

"Sometimes intimate touches can bother you even if they aren't sexual," Phil said, keeping his hands where they were on his hips. "It's all right if they do, Clint. Sometimes things that aren't sexual can still trigger flashbacks to sexual abuse. It's fine if you don't want this. It's always fine. Are you going to be okay if I touch you?"

"I'm sorry," Clint apologized, "I am, it's not a big deal, honest, did I screw up? Is that why you're asking?"

"No, you didn't screw up," Phil said. "I worry sometimes, that's all. I don't know the full story about you and your brother, and sometimes I worry I'm going to do something to set you off without realizing it. I just want to be careful, for your sake."

"Right," Clint said, relaxing and exhaling through his nose, shaking it off. "No, sir, I'm fine. I mean, I'm not used to this. Being touched like this. At all. So you're fine, y'know."

"Good," Phil said, pressing a kiss to the swell of his ass before cupping it in both hands. "Not the fact that you've never been touched so kindly, but the fact that you're fine, of course."

Clint nodded, his face pink. "You've never, uh, touched me like this, sir. I mean, you have, just not...not so much, you know?"

"If you want the truth," Phil said, his face flushing even darker, "I was shy."

"You? Shy? Jesus," Clint said, arching his back and sighing in pleasure when Phil squeezed his ass. "How come, sir?"

"Well, it just...you're beautiful, Clint. I almost get...in awe of it, sometimes. Because I'm really not," Phil said with a sigh. "My physique is nothing special, and you're practically carved out of granite. I didn't know how to tell you how beautiful you were, because it just...stuns me, sometimes. That you picked me. That someone who wanted me looks like...like you, Clint."

Clint cocked his head to listen. When Phil was done, he turned in a single fluid movement and dropped to pin him, hovering over him with a frown.

Phil didn't move, looking up at Clint. He was limp beneath him; he hadn't even tensed when Clint had pounced. Clint growled.

"Oh, no," he said. "I'm not having any of that shit, sir."

"Clint, behave—"

"Extra not having any of that," Clint said. "For five seconds, sir, I'm not your sub. I'm just going to be pissed."

He put his hand on Phil's chest and gave him a look. "We're gonna talk about this too, okay? I'm sort of sick of being the one to unload on you all the time, sir. Not 'cause I don't love that you let me do it, but...I dunno, I don't think it's fair that I don't give anything back."

"Clint," Phil breathed, "I didn't do this because I expected—"

"Phil, I _know,"_ Clint promised. "I know you don't. But it's not fair. And I don't like seeing my dom like this. I don't. So it has nothing to do with helping me, for once. Just...just let me help you, okay?"

"Okay," Phil said, pulling him close and hugging him tight. "Okay, Clint. I love you so much."

"Love you too, sir," Clint said, beaming. "Talk later?"

"Later," Phil said, lifting Clint up and adjusting him so he lay sprawled out in front of Phil, his legs hanging in the air. "I've still got some ground to cover."

Clint practically purred with delight when Phil stroked his thighs. "Does that feel good, princess?"

"Yeah," Clint promised. "Sure does, sir."

"Good," Phil replied, kissing his forehead. "That's so good, Clint. Can you flex a bit for me?"

"Yeah," Clint said, shifting and flexing his thighs. Phil put his hands on them, nodding at Clint. Clint sighed, groaned, and squeezed his own thighs as he shivered and arched his back.

"Good boy," Phil said, his voice gentle. "Such a good boy. I'm so proud. Does that feel good?"

"Amazing," Clint breathed. "For real, sir. So good."

"I'm glad," Phil said with a smile. "Almost done, Clint. Keep your hands on your thighs if you like while I finish up, but don't touch your cock. That's an order."

"Aw, all right," Clint said with a little grumble. Phil kissed the inside of his knees before moving down to his calves. He ran his hands down the muscle, moving them back up as Clint moaned and shivered.

"I love your legs, you know," Phil said, his tone conversational even as he saw Clint's hand twitch desperately on his thighs. "They're so toned and long, Clint. You've got a lovely body from head to toe. Do you understand that now?"

"Yes, sir," Clint said, beaming. "Oh, god yeah. It feels real good, sir, honest..."

"It's your body, darling," Phil promised. "It can always feel this good when we're like this. Just ask me to touch you, and I promise, I will. I want you to feel your whole body and be aware of it, Clint. Remember it's yours. And remember I love you, and the body you're in."

"Okay," Clint said, wriggling and squirming. "Sir, can we--"

"Not yet," Phil teased, kissing his toes. "Almost there, princess."

Clint actually giggled when Phil rubbed the balls of his feet, tracing his fingers alongside the arch. Phil pressed another kiss to his toes as he traced his fingers up the tops of Clint's feet.

"Beautiful," he promised, rubbing his fingers a little more along Clint's feet. "Are you good, princess?"

"Beautiful, sir," Clint breathed, beaming.

"Damn right you are," Phil replied, giving him a smile in return. "Ready?"

"Jesus, yes," Clint groaned, making Phil laugh.

"All right, then. Up on the bed, darling."

Clint was on the bed in seconds, giving Phil his best coquette impression. Phil laughed, shaking his head and standing up with a wince, brushing off his suit jacket.

"Okay," he said. "Then hold still. Eyes on me."

Clint nodded, keeping his eyes trained on Phil as his lover undid his tie. He watched as Phil undid his every button, resisting the urge to touch his cock. He couldn't stop himself from rutting himself against the sheets; Phil stopped mid-undress and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, sorry sir," Clint whimpered. "I'm sorry. I'll stay still."

"Good boy," Phil said. "Patience is important. Eyes on me, darling. If you appreciate my body so much, devour it."

Clint nodded, sitting upright and watching Phil strip. He finally shrugged off his shirt, letting Clint get a look at his chest. It was broad and warm and mapped with little scars; Clint’s fingers twitched with the urge to run his fingers along them to gentle the hurts long gone. Phil caught the movement and cocked his head.

“Is this all something you really want to touch?” he asked, running his hand up and down his chest, stopping over a few particularly nasty ones. “They’re scars, Clint.”

“Yeah, sir, I know,” Clint breathed. “Wanna touch ‘em, sir. Want to remind myself they don’t have power anymore. They’re long-gone wounds, sir. That’s all.”

Phil’s eyes softened and he bent over to give Clint a quick kiss, letting him lick briefly at a scar on his shoulder before he pulled away and stood up straight, his hands going for his belt.

Clint watched, swallowing and licking his lips as Phil undid his belt and slid the smooth leather from the loops on his slacks with ease before he unzipped his fly with steady hands and let his pants drop, kicking off his shoes with two smooth gestures. He stood before Clint in only briefs, his shoulders slumped and his hands hanging at his sides, curled into fists as he raised his head up and met Clint’s eyes.

“Beautiful, sir,” Clint said before Phil could even open his mouth. “Please, sir. If I could just touch you. I just…can I yet? Please, sir. I’ll beg. Chrissakes, I’ll wiggle my ass in the air and do that little whimper you like. Please sir. Pretty please.”

“Clint,” Phil said with a little laugh. “I don’t know…maybe if you beg a bit.”

Clint’s face flushed and he nodded, settling on his stomach and raising his ass in the air, opening his legs up and letting Phil see as he swayed his hips in slow little arcs, exhaling a shuddering breath before he murmured, “Please, sir? Can I touch you?”

“Where, little hawk?” Phil breathed, his chest warm and his stomach simmering with lust. “You have to tell me where, little one.”

“Can I kiss your chest, sir?” Clint begged. “And your neck, and your thighs? A-and can I suck your cock, sir? Please?”

“You can kiss,” Phil promised him, stroking his hair, “but I don’t want you sucking my cock. Not yet.”

He gave him a smile and ran a thumb across Clint’s cheek. “My sweet little hawk, I wanted you to feel good about _your_ body. I’m grateful you appreciate mine, but this is still about you, little one.”

“Yeah, but,” Clint whined, “all I wanna do is suck your cock, sir. Please.”

“You won’t say that after I’ve had my way with you tonight, Clint,” Phil promised, kissing his forehead. “Come on, up on your knees.”

Clint stood up and buried his face into Phil’s neck, licking and suckling at the exposed flesh, tracing bull’s-eyes into the soft, vulnerable skin. Phil practically purred as he held Clint still, letting his lover nip and nibble at his neck until almost all of it glistened and throbbed with red marks. Clint pulled away in triumph, moving to Phil’s neck.

He kissed every scar, mindful of the knotted flesh beneath his tongue as he traced out patterns with the tip of his tongue. Clint was careful and attentive as he nipped flesh and lowered his mouth to nuzzle and kiss Phil’s nipples, licking them into firm little beads before he went down to kiss his way across Phil’s chest and finally nuzzle his face gently into Phil’s groin, whining softly.

“Not tonight, little hawk,” Phil reminded him. “Tonight is about your body, first and foremost.”

He smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “But this is fantastic, Clint. Thank you, truly. I…I’m glad I pass muster, Clint.”

“You’re perfect,” Clint moaned into his thighs, “you’re so perfect, Phil, you’re everything to me, absolutely everything…”

Phil beamed, shaking his head as he stroked Clint’s hair. “I love you too, little princess. I love you so much.”

Clint hugged him tight and nuzzled into his stomach, inhaling his scent and kissing the warm roll of flesh he knew Phil was so self-conscious about.

“I love you,” he breathed into the skin, “every part of you, all of you, even the parts you don’t think I could ever love, I do, I love them, I love you…”

Phil swallowed, opened his mouth, and couldn’t find the right words for a few minutes, simply stroking Clint’s back as his hands reached down to caress Phil’s calves, his mouth finally bending to kiss his toes, the soft veins in his feet.

“Too much, Clint,” he murmured. “You’re too much for me, and I can’t—“

“You can take it, sir,” Clint promised, “you’re my dominant, right?”

Phil smiled and leaned down to push him back against the bed, kissing his forehead.

“I am,” he murmured in reply, his hand reaching for the lube sitting on the bed. “And I’m going to finish up this fun little exercise of ours now, prettybird.”

He gave Clint another kiss before removing his cock ring in a hurry, slicking his fingers up and prepping him as quickly as he could while still remaining efficient; Clint held still, patient, until he heard Phil slicking his cock up in lube and he panted in eagerness, spreading his legs wider.

Phil pushed into him with a slow, agonizing burn and smiled, nuzzling Clint’s neck. “Feel that, princess? Focus on the way my body feels meeting yours. Tell me how your body feels when I’m inside you.”

“S-so good, sir,” Clint panted, rubbing against him. “It feels full. Full and hot. And oh, god, Phil, I’m really tight—“

“Yes you are, princess,” Phil agreed, his voice raw with desire. “You’ve got such a tight little hole, even after all the times we’ve played together. You’re so perfect, Clint, so gorgeous and gentle and beautiful…”

Clint preened as Phil pushed his way in entirely and finally took one of Clint’s hands in his, guiding it below his belly and pressing it down. Clint squirmed; Phil gave him a look and shook his head, waiting until his submissive stilled to press his hand down harder.

“I want you to feel my cock when I take you,” he said. “I want you to keep your hand right here and know that I’m the one inside you, Clint. I want you to tell me how it feels to have your body owned and loved and claimed by someone else, princess.”

“O-okay,” Clint said, almost sobbing with pleasure. “Okay, Phil. Love you so much.”

“And I you, little hawk,” Phil promised, picking up his pace as Clint moaned and wriggled, keeping his hand steady and refusing to steal a stroke of his cock. Phil gave him a sloppy warm kiss for that, all tongue and desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” Clint moaned as Phil thrust into him. “You feel so good in me, sir, so good and thick and, ah, uh, you make me f-feel whole, sir, please—“

“Ssh, ssh little hawk,” Phil whispered, silencing him with a little kiss, “ssh, this is about you. You’re so beautiful.”

“Yeah, but,” Clint whined, rubbing himself against Phil. “You too, sir, you too, I love you…”

Phil smiled and shook his head, pressing Clint’s hand down onto his cock and watching him blush. “Good to know, my little hawk. I mean it. But for now, I want you quiet until you can tell me how beautiful _you_ are.”

“Sir…” Clint whined softly, shaking his head before a good thrust against his prostate had him mewling and clinging to Phil.

Phil smiled and kissed his forehead, holding him steady as he worked his hips against Clint’s, murmuring in his ear as he ran a hand through his hair. “You’re so beautiful, princess. You know that? Right down to your little scars and imperfections. You’re a perfect little pet, Clint, and all mine. Aren’t you?”

Clint nodded emphatically, pressing his hand down harder to feel Phil’s cock, warming his insides and making him feel filled up. He stayed silent, looking up at Phil pleadingly. His dom smiled and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Good boy,” he said. “So polite and well-behaved and absolutely gorgeous. I’m very lucky, Clint. And I couldn’t be more grateful.”

He marked his next few words with a slow, rolling thrust, his hips pressed so tight against Clint’s that it made a wet little pleading noise between them when he pulled away. “You’ve got the most beautiful eyes, and the softest hair, and the most wonderfully broad shoulders, and your arms, Clint, I could write poems on your arms…”

Clint actually laughed, giving Phil a little teasing grin. “Better not, sir. Might get me mistaken for paperwork.”

Phil chuckled and squeezed his hand, pressing it down just as he hit Clint’s prostate, making him cry out.

“Wouldn’t want that,” he agreed. “No, darling. All of this belongs to me, and only me. Your beautiful, strong thighs and cute little toes and perfect, gorgeous face; all mine, Clint. I’m not sharing you. Not with anyone and not for anything.”

Clint moaned and smiled, his whole face lighting up as he felt his cock jump, pre-come leaking out onto his belly. Phil smiled in return, a light going off in his head as he ran a single finger down Clint’s cock.

“You like that, don’t you? Being owned,” Phil said, reaching up to tug at his collar. “Being owned by your dominant. You like being a kept man, don’t you, little hawk? I would’ve never thought you’d want a cage.”

“S’different with you, sir,” Clint said, exhaling a shuddering breath as he felt his orgasm beginning to swell up in him like a wave. “S’not—you’re not, oh, oh, _ohh—“_

“Not yet,” Phil said pleasantly just as Clint was about to lose it. He cried in frustration when Phil gripped the base of his cock. “You didn’t finish explaining.”

“I just—it’s okay if you own me,” Clint moaned, “you’ll take care of me, you will, I know that sir, I do, I trust you and I want you to keep me, please take care of me, sir, I trust you, honest, just _please let me come—“_

“Do you think you deserve it, little one?” Phil murmured. “Can you tell me your body is worth that and mean it?”

“Yes, sir,” Clint breathed out, shaking his head before swallowing. “Because you thought so, sir, and you—you showed me. It was so good, sir. And it helped so much.”

He held Phil’s hand tight in one hand and felt his dom fuck him with the other; the feel of his cock was starting to make Clint lightheaded with sheer desire. “It did, sir. And I want to be able to tell myself good stuff too. Please, sir. I…I do think I deserve it.”

Phil smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Good boy. You’re allowed to think you deserve things, Clint. Don’t ever be ashamed for thinking that.”

Clint nodded and smiled as Phil kissed his lips, slow and easy before he nipped lightly on the bottom one, making it swell up as Clint sighed in pleasure.

“You’re beautiful,” Phil murmured. “So beautiful and all mine. Little pet, little love, little darling. I’ll take such good care of you. I’ll keep you safe and sound and show you all the love I have in me, Clint. I promise.”

Clint nodded, coming with a little strangled cry, panting Phil’s name as a river of come hit his stomach. He felt Phil’s cock twitch inside him and he moaned in anticipation as Phil gave him a deep, searing kiss, coming inside him the second their tongues met.

Clint clung to him and panted, beaming and nuzzling Phil’s neck as his dominant rode out his orgasm and pulled out of him with a single slow movement. Clint whined in protest until Phil gave him a kiss.

“Shower before bed?” he suggested. Clint grinned and giggled, nuzzling his neck. Phil chuckled. “I shouldn’t ask too much from you after you’ve come, I think.”

Clint held his arms up to be carried; Phil rolled his eyes and smiled, kissing his forehead. “You better be glad I love you, Clint.”

“More grateful than I can say, Phil,” Clint murmured into his neck as Phil lifted him up, standing up right only to lean on Phil’s shoulder and kiss his collarbone. “Love you so much.”

Phil kissed his forehead and nodded, smoothing back Clint’s hair and hugging him tight before leading him into the shower.


End file.
